


Call For A Good Time

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Character Death, Child Abuse, Cutting, Depression, Detective!Derek, Drug Addiction, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Murder Mystery, Prostitute!Stiles, Prostitution, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-04 09:13:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orphaned, abused and shuffled from foster home to home, Stiles finds himself selling his body on the streets of downtown NY City. Detective Hale can't help but want to protect him, even if it means going beyond the call of duty.</p><p>Trigger warnings: attempted rape, drug use, cutting, depression, abuse.</p><p>Ratings changed! Mature content.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Everyone knows about the Mayans and their civilizations and empires that sprawled across the map of Central and South America. They reigned for thousands of years, developing their mathematical theorems and intricate writing systems that would baffle historians in the centuries to come. But even all great things must come to an end, and the Mayan Empire simply crumbled away leaving behind remnants of their colossal monuments. No one could say for sure why the Mayans simply stopped existing, though there are many popular explanations like for instance, the empire collapsed under its own weight, being pulled apart by political strife and progressively crappy leadership from the Kings who followed. Not that it wasn’t a factor in the eventual fall, Stiles always felt that it was a pretty lame reason. If poor government was responsible for anything it would be the obscene amounts of political scandal and tomfoolery; the fall of a country depended on the people, the little guy. The end of the Mayan civilization didn’t come when the Spanish invaded their Empire. It didn’t end when they warred with the conquistadors. It remained surviving even after they assimilated the Spaniards and cohabitated with them. No, instead it all ended when they finally crushed the dreams, hopes and beliefs of the little guy. A kingdom piled as high as the Mayan civilization came crashing down when a Spanish Priest razed the libraries in a roaring fire; their history, language, their culture all recorded meticulously and handed down from generation to generation all up in smoke. Historians call it one of the greatest tragedies in history as an entire race was forced to forget who they were and wipe the planet of their very existence save for the carved hieroglyphs on the temple walls.

Fortunately, humanity quickly learned from its mistakes and history would be forever preserved in the deep recesses of the internet and now colossal buildings were built out of steel and concrete instead of stone and mortar. The part about protecting the little guy however, still was a work in progress.

Stiles rubbed his hands trying to dispel the frigid numbness that settled in his fingers and huddled closer in the hood of his jacket.

“Stiles, you say a lot of bullshit from time to time, but that honestly was most amount of bullshit I ever heard from you. Ever.”

“Shut up Isaac. Like you would know any better. You’re just jealous you’re not as smart as Stiles.”

“You heard him Erica. Mayans? Tell me who, other than nut jobs and lunatics, talks about the Mayans.”

Stiles pressed his mouth into a hard line and tuned out the bickering that continued behind him. He knew what he sounded like, going off on a Mayan spiel like that, but it may have been more of a long winded analogy from something that clenched around his heart. He had been speaking from the heart when he said that the little guy was forgotten and left to fend for himself in the grimy, filthy streets. Not that he was projecting any biased thoughts. Not at all.

He ground his teeth as a chilly breeze picked up carrying the stale smell of exhaust smoke and wet garbage. It always amazed him how the streets of downtown New York City was always alive, regardless of the time, weather or occasion, like on this particularly wet mid-November night. The three of them, Stiles, Isaac and Erica stood huddled on the curb under a brightly burning street lamp that cast a ghostly white light that matched nothing of the surroundings. They stood in front of bar that blared loud Latino music that seemed to be overstuffed with people as they spilled out on the sidewalk  drinking and chattering loudly with sporadic bursts of raucous laughter and cheering. The trio edged a little away from the rowdy crowd giving berth to what seemed like a growing number of people dancing.

Isaac huffed through his nose and lit up a cigarette.

“I don’t know why you said coming here would be better you know Erica. The only time a car slowed down here was to honk at one of those idiots falling in the road.”

“Cherry said that this was a good spot. Next time you could choose if you have to be such a bitch about it.”

“Are you seriously calling _me_ a bitch?”

“Shut up Isaac, I think we might be getting some company.” Stiles snapped out already assuming his trademark hooker-pose. Isaac and Erica stopping squabbling immediately as soon as the prospect of business quite literally rolled up they too following Stiles’ lead.

The car was sleek and black and slowed to a rumbling halt in front of them. The tinted glass rolled down and an older gentleman with graying temples gave them a sidelong glance.

“Hey honey you need some company?” Erica’s saccharine voice grated on Stiles’ ears. It sounded so phony compared to her normal snarky and witty self. The older gentleman smiled and wordlessly crooked a finger towards Isaac, beckoning him into the car. Isaac smirked over his shoulder before hopping into the stranger’s car, mouthing the words _see you later_ and winking. Not five minutes later Erica was picked up, in a gray Sedan by some shy guy leaving Stiles alone to contemplate the many life-choices that led him to this place.  He was strongly tempted to leave after some people in the bar/on the sidewalk began getting a little too passionate about something involving a parakeet. He made a turn to leave as the couple reached ear-splitting levels when a cold hand roughly grabbed him around the scruff and pulled him close.

“Heyy, honey where d’ya think ya goin’?” The man slurred and brushed up against him roughly, smelling of cheap liqueur and sweat. His grip was tight and he had the height advantage over Stiles pulling him under his shoulder. Customers like this always meant trouble, but Stiles was used to taking care of himself on the street.

“Business closed for the night big boy.” He smoothed as he gently disentangled himself from the man’s sweaty armpit.

“Whaddya talkin’ ‘bout! I only just got here honey.” The man loomed in so close Stiles could see the oily follicles of the man’s facial hair, and the plaque stuck to his teeth. The man backed him into the lamppost pushed something sharp into his stomach. Stiles looked down and saw the glinting blade pressed close to him and caught the drunken gleam in the man’s eye.

“Gimme a freebie and let’s say we don’t have no trouble honey.” Stiles felt his hot stinking breath on his skin, fighting the urge to gag on what smelled like a rotting corpse. The man jabbed the blade a little harder and twisted his features into what resembled a smile. Stiles glanced over at the crowd of people too occupied to care about one lone boy-toy. Even if he called out for help, it would be so easy for this scum-bag to knife him and get away with it, leaving him to rot in some dumpster. He swallowed and clenched his teeth then bowed his head in submission. The man’s grotesque features widened and his eyes bulged as he gripped Stiles’ bicep and pushed him towards the darkened end of the street.

The drunken man stumbled forward but maintained his vice-like grip on his arm, not to mention the knife that he kept pinned to his waist. Stiles’ would have preferred if they just stayed at the bar, heck he would have gotten down on his knees right there and then and given him a blow-job. At least over there the noise would cover up the disgusting mouth breathing and drunken slurring coming from the man. He cringed just thinking of the wet, sucking noises that would soon be coming from him as he was roughly pushed into a darkened alleyway.

The drunk forced his back against the cold wet concrete wall essentially trapping him between the building and his own body. He cursed as he fumbled with his belt buckled, staggering and swaying, dropping his knife causing it to skitter under a dumpster. Stiles froze as the drunken man continued to tug at his belt seeming not to notice that he lost his weapon. Stealing the moment, he swiftly kneed the man in the crotch and drove him backwards. The man flailed his arms grasping at anything for support, crashing down hard on the slick concrete. Stiles rushed past him but the man caught him by the ankle bringing him down hard on a full face plant. Instantly the man was on top of him straddling his thighs in a strangling choke hold. Stiles beat his fists wildly landing a sharp blow on the man’s nose momentarily stunning the man. Enraged, the man raised his fist and knocked the daylights out of Stiles. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth and spurted from his cut lip. In a haze of sparkles he could see the man raise his fist again and slackened his jaw for another blow when suddenly all the weight pressing down on him was lifted and several voices were shouting above his head.

“Put your hands on your head now!” Stiles felt himself being lifted ungraciously by the armpits and pulled towards the light. He was still stunned and barely registered the man talking to him in a calm, deep voice.

“Are you okay?”

“Wha-? What?”

“Are you okay?” The dark haired, deep voiced man managed to make eye contact with Stiles, knitting his brows in concern.

“Never better, not like I nearly got shanked and raped by some crazy drunk hobo.” Stiles quipped, surprising even himself that he had regained his senses so quickly. The man was not amused. _Why should he be_ wondered Stiles, _he’s a cop,_ or so he assumed. The man breathed through his nose and released Stiles, who hadn’t even noticed that the cop was gripping him more than necessary.

“Chris, you got him?”

“Yeah, I got this dirt bag. I can call this one in, you can go ahead.” Stiles watched the other cop wrestle the drunken hobo into the back of his car, which was a non-descript civilian car. Stiles quickly noted that both men were also in civilian clothes which meant that they were either off-duty or detectives. The dark haired man muttered something under his breath and tapped something into his phone. Stiles took his moment of distraction to fully appreciate what stood before him. They were the same height, but he probably had a good 40 or 50lbs of muscle on him. His black hair spiked up in no particular direction and his chiseled jaw was lined with one of the best well-manicured five o’ clock shadow. He looked up at Stiles who took a breath when he noticed his eyes. They were pale green, almost silver and Stiles could feel them scrutinizing his distinct under dress and tight leather jeans. They softened as he paused to look at the cut on his lip and purpling bruise on his cheek.

“Are you willing to go down to the station and testify?” The man’s voice sounded as if he already knew the answer but with an air of hope that he was wrong. Stiles smirked wryly. Like he would ever be caught going to the station to testify, hookers don’t kiss and tell. The cop accepted his silence resignedly and his shoulders drooped a little.  He rubbed his face hard with the heel of his hand suddenly wearied by the nights events, Stiles almost felt bad for making his job harder than it was but stopped when the man fixed him with a disconcerting glare.

“Aren’t you a little young to be on the streets?”

“I can be any age you want me to be.” Stiles checked his nails and cocked his eyebrows flirtatiously. He knew he was pushing his luck by flirting with the cop who saved him, but it ticked him off that he acted so concerned.

“You realize that you were almost killed, right?”

“I can handle myself.” He smarted dropping the flirtations altogether and glaring back coldly.

“How old are you?”

“Who wants to know?”

“What’s your name.”

“You can call me anything you want, Sugar.” The last part especially seemed to tick him off. Just as he opened his mouth to retort a cold gust of wind blew past, sprinkling them with the cold drops of rain to come.

“Look can we just drop the Spanish Inquisition. I’m freezing, I had zero customers and I nearly got filleted by a hobo.” Stiles bit down on the last word pressing in on himself trying to generate some warmth in his thin wet jacket, visibly trembling. The man took pity on him, shoulders sagging as he warily regarded the thin boy in front of him. He sighed audible and pressed his fingers over his eyes.

“I can’t just leave you here. I’m off-duty now, and I’m guessing you haven’t eaten dinner yet.” As if on cue, Stiles stomach rumbled in protest. He looked away abashed, fighting the blush creeping up his neck.

“You don’t have to…”

“Would you rather turn down free food to walk home in this weather?” It was already beginning to drizzle, and Stiles shivered. The man was already striding off, making Stiles scamper to catch up. The man bit the inside of his cheek failing to hide his smirk as Stiles fumbled with the seat-belt cursing under his breath, all awkward limbs and flailing movements.

“Where off to then?” the man was clearly amused by Stiles clumsiness.

“ **MacDonalds**.”

 

* * *

 

The restaurant was mostly empty when they arrived. The ride over had been silent save for the upbeat pop music playing between them. Apparently, Stiles felt if he was being treated best make the most of it, and instantly flipped to his favourite radio station as soon as he set foot in the car. Derek said nothing, and pressed on stoically through the rain, only the upturn at the corner of his mouth showing that he didn’t mind. He watched Stiles wolf down two burgers, both of their fries and nuggets and wash it down with a large strawberry milkshake.  He himself didn’t care much for the highly processed fat-laden cardboard, but watching the boy eat with such relish gave him some sense of satisfaction. He silently wondered if he even ate regularly or was just naturally that slender. Stiles wiped his mouth on a napkin and leaned back in his chair contentedly, feeling positively stuffed.

“So… Are you like a detective or something?” Derek looked taken aback at the sudden directness of the question.

“Ah- Yes. Most people would just assume I’m a cop though…” He trailed giving Stiles a questioning glare.

“Well for one you’re not in uniform. And plus how else would you afford such a sweet ride.” He nodded his head towards the black Camaro parked outside, taking a beating under the heavy rain. There was no smugness in his tone, it was just an observation and as he talked he tore a neat square out of the paper menus on the table Derek noted.

“Besides I know how cops act,” he continued, deftly creasing the paper into many little folds, unfolding and folding, “And cops around here don’t let hookers mess with their radio or take them out for dinner.” He smirked at Derek catching his eye as he pushed over a colourful origami swan.

“This is thank you.” He finished quietly burying his hands in his lap, suddenly very shy.

Derek felt his heart swell with affection taking the swan and turning it over in his fingers. _This kid wasn’t so bad_ he pondered, bitterly remembering what he did for a living. The paper swan suddenly seemed very fragile in his hands and all the affection in his heart was replaced with frustration.

“Um… I can make you something else if you don’t like it…” Stiles piqued noting the change in Derek’s expression.

“Why do you do it?”

“Huh? Origami? I don’t know, I guess it’s fun. I could teach you if you want.” Stiles intentionally avoided looking at him.

“You know what I mean.” Derek’s voice was gruffer than he meant it to sound.

“Extenuating circumstances.” Derek could sense that Stiles was already walling himself in again. Stiles pushed back in his chair and slid down in his chair, crossing his arms and sticking out his bottom lip like a petulant child.

“You don’t have to do what you do… You could go back to school, probably even get into university.”

“I don’t need to, I already have everything I need now.”

“Now? What about the future? You can’t keep doing this forever.”

“What future?” He spat out his voice broken, “And why are you so afraid to say what I do, I’m a hooker. I have sex for money, if you want we could go back to your car and I could give you a proper thank you gift.”

“Stop!” Derek raised his hands in defense. He couldn’t bear anymore. Stiles huffed and slid further down his chair and chewed his bottom lip. Derek was glad that none of the employees seemed present to over hear their conversation. A silence settled between them, even the heavy thrumming of rain reduced to a light drizzle. Stiles’ phone buzzed and rattled against the plastic chair with an incoming text from Erica.

_Hey babe! Me and Isaac are home already. Good night tonite!_

He punched out a default reply along the lines of _Great! Let’s celebrate tmrw morning_ without really thinking about it. This man had already pissed him off more than once.

“Do you want me to drive you home?” Derek’s voice sounded tired and defeated.

“Nah, I live right around the corner.” Stiles lied, “Besides you’ve done enough.” Derek raised an eyebrow but probed no further. An idea occurred to him as he fished out a pen and a card from his pocket. He scribbled something on the back and slipped it over to Stiles.

“This is my work number, just ask for Detective Hale. Derek Hale. On the back is my personal number. If you need anything call me.” Stiles took it and made a non-committal noise before slipping it into his pocket. Maybe he’d throw it away afterwards. It didn’t matter, he was never going to call. Derek looked at him expectantly, pointedly glancing at the pen he left between them. Stiles caught on quickly and tore off a bit more of the paper menu and scribbled on the back and folded it, standing up as he pushed it over.

“Here this is my number. I should be going now, thanks again for dinner.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

The door was already swinging behind him just as the words left Derek’s mouth. He sighed and rubbed his face for what seemed like the millionth time for that night. He made his way to his car and settled in comfortably before pulling on his seatbelt and revving the engine. He felt the piece of paper crinkle in his coat pocket and fished it out, remembering that he didn’t even know that kid’s name. A short bark of laughter escaped his lips as he read it: _Jenny 867-5309._

“Damn that kid.” He shook his head and peeled off into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not that good with background information but here's the backstory!
> 
> Trigger warnings: Rape, cutting, abuse.

It was almost midnight when he reached the apartment. He would never forget the look on Erica’s face or the way Isaac punched a hole through the dry wall in their tiny apartment. Stiles’ had to fight the urge to laugh as he thought of ridiculous they all looked; three prostitutes playing house, the mom fretting hysterically, the dad fuming in the corner and the child sheepishly standing in the door with a bruise on his face. And for some reason there was a small birthday cake sitting on the coffee table already lit and dripping wax, because Erica seemed to think celebrating required birthday cakes even if none of them had a birthday for months. It may as well have been lifted from a life-time movie. Once they got over their roles and moved on to more important things like putting out the fire-hazard waiting to happen and devouring half of the birthday-unbirthday cake, Stiles leaned back into the ratty armchair and pulled out a rolled up bundle of bills.

“Here, I didn’t make much tonite.” He lied pressing the cash into Isaac’s hand. He made nothing at all. Isaac counted the bills and huffed, trying to press the money back into Stiles’ closed fist.

“Stiles, don’t lie to me, you made nothing at all. This is from yesterday, and I know you always split whatever you make in half with us.”

“Keep it. I told you already I don’t need it, you guys always keep me well fed.” He grinned at the chocolate cake and waggled his eyebrows mischievously. Isaac and Erica shared a look before Isaac reached over and patted Stiles’ head, then slipped off the couch to the kitchen. Stiles could hear the squeak from opening of the cupboard and the popping open of the rusty biscuit tin where they kept their money. They never kept more than a week’s worth of money in the apartment at a time because every Friday morning Isaac would take a cab uptown to Central Bank, meet with a man behind the building and slip the cash to him neatly packaged in a brown envelope. Stiles had gone a few times with Erica to drop off the money, initially concerned that maybe Isaac was being extorted, but dropped all lingering doubts as soon as he met him.

Boyd, as Erica and Isaac called him, was a bank manager though to Stiles he could have also been a bouncer as he watched his muscles ripple under his suit. He pulled some strings for them and set up a checking account, where they could build their meager savings until they had enough to get off the streets. The few times Stiles tagged along, he could see that Boyd genuinely cared for them, and a little more than platonically for Erica, the way he hugged her and whispered in her ear that soon they would be done with this. Or the way he freaked out when he saw the black eye she got from a pimp trying to kidnap and rape her. The very next day someone delivered a couple of tasers and pepper spray to their run-down apartment.

Stiles had forgotten what it felt like to have a family, and this was the closest thing he had ever since his parents died. When he was ten he watched his mother slowly wither away as the cancer ate away at her. His father took it hard but he never gave up on Stiles. If anything he became more protective of his son, making sure he always saw him every day before he went to bed. That all ended one night when the deputy-sheriff came banging on the door at three in the morning. He was 12 at the time, barely recovered from the loss of his mom when he was told that a drunken maniac had pulled a gun on the Sheriff. The bullet passed through his heart, instant and fatal. The next four years that followed were a long slew of shuffling between foster families and orphanages. The longest he stayed at one foster home was eight months, and that was because Mr. Frank enjoyed having his way with him too much to let him go. It was only after a particularly rough session of drunken sex and beating him within an inch of his life that the neighbours finally called the police. He was 16 and after that he took off and never looked back. He didn’t care anymore, he could never live in that system again even if freedom meant turning tricks on the corner. He had been on the streets for a few months feeding his coke addiction and shooting up every night before he met Erica and Isaac. They hadn’t been on the streets much longer than him, both with a similar past of failure on part of the social care system but they weren’t like him. They didn’t do drugs, they didn’t associate with the street dwellers, and mostly they didn’t give up on hope for a better life. Like Stiles had. They wanted a better future for themselves, and even after being kicked out of bank after bank they finally found a small miracle when Boyd agreed to help them.

After being taken in by them, he instantly kicked his drug habits and vowed a fierce loyalty to the ones he now called family. Even though he constantly refused to leave with them, he never failed to split his cash with them, no matter how little he made.

Erica was wrapping up the remainder of the birthday cake as Isaac slipped back into the living/dining area stretching out his long legs on the couch.

“Stiles, you know we’re almost out of here. You should really come with us.”

“Nah, you and Erica have been working hard for this. It’s not my place.”

“Of course it is Stiles,” Erica chimed in, “You work just as, if not harder than me and Isaac combined. And everyone knows you bring home the most money.” Stiles chuckled lightly. He lived on the wild side, much more daring than the other two, coming home with bills stuff in his underwear and a couple black eyes.  Though tonight was the first time in a long time since he’s come home looking bang-up, knowing how upset it made Erica and Isaac.

“What are you going to do then? You know after we leave.” Isaac rolled his head and gave Stiles a consternated look. Stiles resisted the urge to grind his teeth. This was the second time tonight someone asked him about the future. He could feel a lump form in his throat and tears prickle his eyes. He doesn’t have a dream like them, why can’t they understand that. He doesn’t have a family, he doesn’t belong anywhere.

“Stiles you know we love you, right? It would be okay if you came with us.” Erica’s warm hand squeezed his palm gently. The tears threatened to burst forth and his chest clenched painfully. He shook off the hand and got up roughly, mumbling good night, keeping his head bowed to hide his glossy eyes. It was too much for one night. Family. Future? He locked his bedroom door and sat on the floor at the foot of the metal bunk feeling the throws of a panic attack seize him. He squeezed his eyes shut causing the tears to trickle down his cheeks and rocked back and forth focusing on his breathing. Images of his father and mother flashed through his mind, the good and the bad. He remembered Mr. Frank beating him and then shoving his cock down his throat. And tonight he could have died and no one would have cared. His breathing grew more erratic and edges of his vision were shaded black. He flailed and grasped at the rickety dresser table yanking open the bottom drawer pulling out a utility knife. He felt the clicking underneath his fingers as he pushed up the blade. Not even taking off his pants he viciously stabbed the tip through the thin leather and dragged it up his thigh. It cut deep and it hurt. And there was a moment of silent. He could see the blood already welling up and rolling down the folds of the tight black leather, the shock and pain wearing off followed by a euphoric release as his chest unclenched and his breathing slowed.

By the time his heart came to a normal pace the tears had dried on his cheeks. He slowly peeled off the skin-tight jeans and observed the deep slash going up and down the length of his thigh. The cut had passed through other similar ones at various stages of healing, forming a sort of sick checkered board carved into his leg. He gingerly climbed onto the bed and cleaned it with the astringent on his bedside table, wincing slightly as the alcohol soaked cotton ball grazed his skin.

If he had done this six months ago he knew he would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t have a problem, he could stop anytime. He needed to feel the pain, not because he liked it but it helped him calm down. Sometimes, the memories would get so bad he would curl up on the floor gasping as tears flowed down his cheeks, immobilized and in agonizing pain as if his heart had been cut out of his chest with a spoon. He couldn’t pin-point exactly when he started cutting himself to ease the panic attacks but it may have been shortly after he moved in with Erica and Isaac and he cracked his head hard against the metal frame of his bed while having an attack. It was like a moment of enlightenment when he realized he could breathe easily after coming down from the shock, a dull pain throbbing in his head. It left him with a nasty bruise, the very next day, and may have given Erica a mild fit, but it didn’t stop there. Afterwards, he would slam his hands in drawers and doorways and pummel himself with balled up fists but even that was beginning to become too suspicious. The he began the scratching, not very noticeable and it only left mild welts on his skin after a few days, progressively experimenting with more and more. It had reached a point where he was slashing at any part of skin he could easily hide, obsessing over the pain and pleasure it gave him. Even though the attacks were becoming less frequent he found himself purposefully mentally torturing himself at times triggering himself, just to feel that one moment of euphoria.

It was an addiction, but like all addicts he was found out. One day Erica walked in on him while he was changing, and watching her face morph from confusion, to terror to despair as her eyes roved over the scars covering his hips, shoulders, arms and legs was enough for Stiles to realize how really deep he was into his ‘habit’. Erica had wordlessly pulled him into a hug and they never spoke about it after that day. Though, sometimes when he seemed depressed she would press a warm hand between his shoulder-blades and give him an understanding hug. He never wanted to see that look on despair on Erica’s face again, and as time passed his scars healed, and he forgot about his knives in the bottom drawer of his dresser, the only evidence on his body being the thin white lines on his skin from the deeper cuts.

He rolled under the blankets feeling the skin around the cut pull on the rough covers. It was a moment of weakness and now he was paying the price in guilt. He passed a finger over the raised skin guiltily wondering what Erica would say if she knew. He ran his hand further down feeling the older cuts he made last week, the first time he had in six months. He closed his eyes and whispered an oath to himself that he would never do it again, sealing it with a prayer to whoever would be listening to protect his new family.

 

* * *

 

It had been a little more than two weeks since Stiles’ close shave with the drunken hobo and as it turned out Cherry was right, the spot in front of the bar was a good place to be. Already Erica and Isaac had regulars who would turn up every few day, but it was Stiles who racked up a reputation. He had always been singled out for being a wild child, but now people actually referred to him as ‘Firecracker’. Customers of all walks would turn up asking for the elusive ‘Firecracker’. It was mostly cars filled with people, smoke and loud music, but very rarely did he have repeat customers, not that he would remember if he did, as a usual night would involve too many people to count.

Tonight was no different, as he stumbled out of the over packed car, his head pounding from the loud music and alcohol. It had been a particularly awesome night as some guys requested the ‘Firecracker’ for their ‘housewarming’ party. It was more of an orgy in retrospect but Stiles didn’t care. He was covered in glitter and blitz out of his mind, and pretty sure that someone had stolen his underwear. It was two in the morning and the streets were empty and glowed orange under the streetlamps. A cold draught picked up causing him to give a slight shudder and pull the miniscule amount of fabric covering his body around a little tighter. His ears had stopped ringing and slowly replaced by the uneven clicks of his boots and his shallow breathing as he stumbled. He concentrated on the pavement because the lampposts were moving too much for his alcohol addled brain, so much so he barely noticed the low rumble of a car pulling up beside him.

“Shop’s closed boys!” He called out loudly not even bothering to look up. He sped up his pace when he heard the car screech to halt and the car door open and shut.

“Hey wait up.” He heard a deep voice cut through the night.

“I said shop’s closed.” Stiles felt his voice crack and the hairs raise on the back his neck. _Shit, shit, shit, shit_ , he needed to get out of here fast but his drunken legs refused to perform any sort of coordinated movement. A warm hand curled around the collar of his jacket and pulled him back, while another hand steadied his movements by firmly gripping his elbow. Stiles pushed back violently, curling into himself into a defensive position.

“Whoa, whoa easy there. I’m not going to hurt you.” Stiles snapped his head up as he recognized the voice. It was that nosy detective from last time. He didn’t want to admit it but Stiles near pissed himself with relief.

“You’re drunk.” Derek observed.

“And you’re sexy,” Stiles quipped coquettishly causing Derek to grimace slightly, “What? I thought we were pointing out the obvious.”

“I should take you down to station, you don’t look old enough to be drinking.”

“Please, I know you just want to take me back to your place and fuck me.” Stiles leaned in close and whispered the last part into Derek’s ear. Derek huffed and pushed Stiles off of him looking irritated at that smug look plastered on Stiles’ face, as if he knew how uncomfortable that made him.

“I’m serious, I will lock you up overnight. I’m sure the other prisoners would like a new pet like you.” Stiles flinched and a momentary flash of fear crossed his face. He backed off and turned a smug grin on Derek that didn’t quite meet his eyes. Derek immediately felt like an ass.

“Whatever dude,” he managed to take a step away but staggered slightly, feeling nauseous. Again, Derek was at his back holding him up.

“Dude, like serious-” he never quite finished the sentence as he vomited all over Derek’s shoes.

 

* * *

                                                                                         

Stiles sat in the front seat of Derek’s car sipping on black coffee and eating a dry toasted bagel. It was 3 AM and they were parked outside of a 24/7 convenience store, where Derek was inside making some purchases. He had never felt so humiliated in his entire life, sitting in the car of the man who bought him dinner and didn’t seem to mind that he vomited all over his shoes. Derek had just let him continue vomiting and then helped him wash his face and mouth with a water bottle he kept in his car. He didn’t even say anything when Stiles started crying quietly, wordlessly handing him some tissues from the glove box, and nothing at all about the fact that he walked in barefoot into a convenience store to buy coffee for the most troublesome hooker in the world.

Derek slid into the car, shutting the door with a puff resting a small bag between them.

“Are you okay?” He turned the key in the ignition letting the car rumble to life. Stiles nodded glumly unable to meet his eyes. It satisfied Derek, who seemed content to leave the car idling while he dug out some Skittles from the bag of stuff he bought.

“You know,” Derek started after a while, “I didn’t think a kid like you would know that song.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Stiles baffled.

“Jenny… 867-5309.” Stiles nearly spit out his coffee, cracking up as Derek stressed on the nine.

“Dude why do you have to say it like that?!”

“You try saying! It’s harder than it seems.”

“Eight-six-seven-five-three-oh-nii-ee-inne-fuck you. Now I can’t say it.” Stiles burst out laughing, no weight behind his words. Derek’s eyes crinkled in mirth, shaking his head. A comfortable silence settled between them as Stiles munched on his dry bagel and Derek shook the bag of Skittles into his palm.

“And I’m not that young you know, I’m 18.” Stiles murmured absently. Derek nearly scoffed when he heard his age but at the same time he was relieved that the kid seemed to be opening up to him. He screwed the top of the Skittles package close and cleared his throat.

“And I’m really sorry about your shoes. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Uh- What? No, no that won’t be necessary.” Derek said a little too quickly.

“I meant that I would buy you a new pair. Not everything I say has to be about sex. Pervert.” Derek rolled his eyes.

“Still won’t be necessary, kid. I’ll give you a ride home.” Stiles hesitated and picked at the invisible lint on the car seat.

“Stiles.”

“What?”

“My name is Stiles.”

“Oh.” _Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh_ , “Okay well Stiles, tell me where you live.”

 

* * *

 

Stiles watched as the black Camaro disappear into the night before turning on his heel and racing up to the apartment. Erica and Isaac were already asleep, as he trod quietly to his own room. He locked the door behind him and began digging up in his closet looking for those ripped leather jeans. _Come on, come on I know it’s in here,_ fist pumping mentally as he felt his hand close around the skin tight jeans. He stuffed in his fingers into the pockets praying that it was still there, feeling his heart plummet when he found nothing until something came fluttering out. He scrambled for the card and flipped it over to Derek’s neat loopy hand-writing. He whipped out his phone and punched in the number mashing out a text in bullet speed checking it thrice before he pressed send and laying on his back on the floor.

Derek saw his phone light on the dash with an incoming text.

_Thanks a lot Derek ;* I owe you new shoes._

He nearly swerved off the road as he re-read it. He committed the number to memory and saved it under a new contact before replying.

_You’re welcome. And you don’t._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit I didn’t expect anyone to read this :O I’m so happy you guys liked it. And I know no one reads the end notes but still thank you!! 
> 
> And if you didn't catch the reference, Jenny is a song from the 80's and it's ridiculously catchy. I couldn't stop listening to it for the past few days and every time I tried to tell someone about the song I ended up singing it. Maybe I'm just retarded but it doesn't matter because I like mahogany floors. That doesn't have anything to do with it.
> 
> If you see any stupid mistakes tell me, and I don't think I'll be able to update until Saturday. So don't get mad if I disappear.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Graphic descriptions of Gore/Violence/Torture.

 

Some days Derek really hated his job. Today was one of those days. He had barely gotten more than a few hours of sleep when Chris pulled up outside his apartment looking just as exhausted as Derek felt, telling him something about an emergency down at the station. Derek knew Chris would never drag Derek to work on his day off, only making the exception in cases of dire situations. Especially not since they had just finished working a particularly draining case involving a series of small drug busts leading up to finally pinning down the ring leader. It had taken weeks of overtime and late nights, sometimes crashing as Chris’ for a catnap then heading back to the station to continue working. Last night had been the first night he actually gotten to sleep in his bed in the past five days _and maybe I would have gotten a few more hours if it hadn’t been for that troublesome kid._ He tutted to himself as he turned off the shower, cringing slightly as he heard Chris manhandle his kitchen wares downstairs.

By the time he got downstairs two plates were already set on the kitchen counter piled high with scrambled eggs and bacon. Chris seemed determined to relax as he lazily sipped his coffee and sprawled over yesterday’s paper. He gave Derek a wry smile, bringing his hand up behind his head massaging away a crick in his neck.

“Here, eat.” He pointed to the plate placed closer to Derek and returned to the paper.

“I thought you said there was an emergency back at the station.” Not as if Derek was keen on hurrying over to the place that seemed to absorb most of his days lately.

“Oh there is an emergency alright. Trust me, I saw the coroners’ faces. You’ll be thanking me later, now eat up.” Chris discarded the paper and started digging in, furrowing his brow chewing slowly after biting down on a piece of eggshell. Cooking wasn’t one Chris’ strong point.

“A murder? When, last night?”

“Yeah, when I left they were trying to get an id on the body.” He paused mentally weighing his words before continuing in a low voice, “I didn’t get to see her face before they zipped up the body bag, but from what I overheard the coroners saying, it doesn’t sound pretty.” Derek nodded understanding the apprehension in Chris’ tone. He had seen a lot of things over the years ranging from decapitation to hacked up corpses, but for something to make the forensics department uncomfortable meant serious business.

“Peter was on scene first,” Chris answered automatically catching the way Derek’s eyebrow quirked, “Someone called in an anonymous tip around 3AM. I got down to the station around seven and I knew you went home after me yesterday so I waited till after the lab guys cleared up before coming for you.” Derek felt the bottom of his stomach do a flip-flop when he remembered what he was doing at three in the morning, _driving around with a prostitute in the front of my car_.  He bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smirking, stuffing his face with the last scraps of egg. Chris cleared away the plates from under his nose sticking them in the dish washer.

“Well, I guess we kept them waiting long enough.”

“Yep,” Derek slipped his leather jacket over his shirt, “Time to catch some bad guys.” Chris grinned tiredly at him and jingled the keys in his pocket, already halfway out the door heading straight for the parked cruiser outside.

 

* * *

 

So maybe calling it an emergency was putting it lightly. Very lightly. Probably understatement of the year. Inside there was a flurry of activity, loose papers scattered everywhere and people scurrying about with their eyes heads bowed and eyes wide as if they’d seen a dead body. Well, that probably wasn’t the best analogy but Derek couldn’t be arsed to try harder at ten in the morning. The extreme tension wasn’t helped by the fact that they had recently recruited a dozen or so greenies, quite a few of those he recognized looking positively shaken. Derek looked over at Chris who looked just as confused as he did. What on earth was going on?

“What on earth is going on? I wasn’t like this when I left…” Derek heard Chris mumbled. Where was Peter when you needed him. As if reading Derek’s thoughts he appeared in a very un-Peter like fashion bursting out from the lieutenants’ office slamming the door shut. Derek had known Peter all his life and despite all his creepy and unsettling ways he could only count on one hand the number of times he had seen Peter truly angry. Like he was right now, making a couple of greenies scuttle out of his way as he stormed past them heading towards the labs.

“Come on let’s go see what all this fuss is about.” Derek muttered, following his uncle trail of destruction and despair shooting consoling glances to the officers who were unfortunate enough to have been in Peter’s wake.

He knew his way around the station by heart but it didn’t stop the chill creeping up his spine as they approached Deaton’s office. The air-condition was colder down here, probably more to do with the fact there were more dead people passing through here than living ones. The noise from the main office behind them died down as they got closer till only the sounds of their footfalls was the only thing that could be heard. Derek stopped in front of Deaton’s office and peered in through the frosted glass. Deaton was pacing and Peter seemed to be having a shouting match with no one in particular, working himself to purple in the face.  Chris brushed past him and barged in causing both Deaton and Peter to stop and look at them.

“Lieutenant Hale I brought him down like you asked. Deaton.” Chris nodded in the doctor’s direction acknowledging him. Peter eyes darted to Derek his face momentarily flashing a brief look of relief.

“Well it’s about time,” Peter cleared his throat, his voice unnaturally hoarse. _Must be from all the shouting._

“Peter what’s going on, it’s not like you to step all over the new recruits like that.” Derek stepped in, cutting straight to the point dropping all formalities, fed up of the suspense. Peter’s face misted over, Derek highly suspected that he was regretting stomping all over the greenies. If it was anything that Peter loved more than meddling in Derek’s love life, it was manipulating the newbies that came in every now and then. He had been working on a few of them convincing them refer to him as the Alpha, which as ridiculous as it was, actually worked. Even some of the older officers who had been victims of Peter’s charms were still wary of him. Peter was truly a frightening man, but he never used brute force especially not in front of those inferior to him. Letting the officers see him lose his cool like that would take a few months in brainwashing sessions before anybody referred to him as the Alpha again.

Derek half expected Peter to stall them as long as possible before actually telling them what was going on but was surprised when Peter pinched his eyebrows before continuing:

“Derek there’s been a murder as I expect Argent has already told you. But what he hasn’t told you if just after he left three more bodies were called in. All same cause of death.” Derek’s blood chilled. His heart skipped a beat hoping, praying that it wasn’t what he thought it meant.

“And you’re positive it’s the same cause of death for all four victims?”

“Yes,” Peter voiced quietly, “Show him the body Deaton.” Deaton silently lead the way to the freezer room, scanning the drawer labels before pausing in front of one and tugging on the handle.

“As you can see, even if they described it over the phone we’re pretty sure it’s the same cause of death, which means-”

“They were all done by the same person…” Derek finished breathlessly. _A serial killer._ Even before knowing that, it was no wonder the lab guys had been freaked. Just looking at the face alone made him squeamish, but it was nothing compared to the rest of the body. Half of her face looked at if it had been scraped off with a piece of sandpaper, glinting white portions of bone showing around her forehead. On the right side of her face a crude pentagram was carved into her cheek with no precision or skill, probably done with a kitchen knife. The rest of her body had butchered to near unrecognizable, her chest cavity split wide open and wrenched apart and more pentagrams carved into her stomach and thighs.

“Whoever did this bound her wrists and ankles with barb wire,” Deaton said pointing to the bloodied rings around her wrists and ankles, “They used rope for her neck and we found this inside her mouth. We figured that they stuffed inside of her mouth and then bound and gagged her.” Derek looked at what Deaton was referring to and felt secretly grateful that Chris insisted that he eat something earlier. It was some kind of grotesque pin-cushion with razor blades and needles sticking out. He catalogued it as something that nightmares were made of before mentally snuffing out the image of it being forced down his throat.

Chris shifted uncomfortably besides him, just as or even more disturbed than Derek. The victim didn’t look much older than his own daughter, Allison so Derek could only imagine what was running through his mind.

“Deaton hasn’t even told you the best part as yet.” Peter filled in, though nothing in his tone suggested anything that there was anything better to come. It was weird hearing Peter make the same sarcastic remarks with none of his usual sarcastic tone. Deaton cleared his throat and busied himself with the clipboard unable to look Derek in the eye.

“Apparently, our mystery murderer is into necrophilia.” Derek let that sink in before looking at the massive hole in her chest and the scraped off portion of her face.

“We found traces of saliva that don’t match the victim’s as well as semen around the mouth, hands and vaginal canal, all post-mortem.” Derek hadn’t even realized that he had been grinding his teeth and quickly unclenched his jaw and relaxed his fists. He didn’t trust himself to speak, but didn’t have to as Chris voiced the very thoughts he had been thinking.

“So what you’re saying is that this sick fuck made a dead girl give him a blow job _and_ a hand job.” _As if just fucking a dead corpse wasn’t bad enough_ Derek mentally added. Deaton seemed preoccupied with scribbling on his clipboard, even Peter seemed unable to meet his gaze.

“And the other victims…” Derek startled himself, his own voice sounding hollow and strange to his ears.

“Same exact M.O.” Deaton supplied, his tone quiet. Derek accepted it trusting Deaton, not very eager to go over the three other victims.

“Any similarities in the victims?” Chris seemed much more composed now but his voice still gruff.

“All of them young, around 18 to 19 all female and brunette. They were found naked and dumped all over town. There are signs that he’s been keeping his victims’ bodies in a freezer, so they could have been dead for weeks before they turned up. We do know though that Jane Doe here is the latest victim.”

“And probably our biggest lead we have so far.” Peter cut in, “The anonymous tipper thought it was a drug deal going down and called it in after seeing a grey SUV pull off.” It suddenly struck Derek that Peter probably hadn’t slept since yesterday, evident by the clothes he was wearing and the dark circles under his eyes. A cloud of dread lingered above them, a grey SUV in New York City didn’t exactly narrow done their possibilities. The lengthening silence was broken by a loud crash. Four pairs of eyes immediately turned on the culprit who Derek recognized as an especially clumsy greenie. He was staring at the pile of metal crucibles and clamps that he knocked over, his hands hovering over them outstretched as if he was trying to jedi them back into place. Deaton cleared his throat.

“Officer McCall, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?” Peter edged out.

“Ah-um, Lieutenant Hale- Sir,” he stumbled over his words making an awkward salute. Chris covered up a laugh with a sputtering cough.

“McCall, you’re not in the army, out with it boy.” Even Peter smirked, albeit tiredly.

“Um, sir Miss Lydia Martin. She’s in your office. Sir.” He barely had enough time to scramble out of the way as Peter charged off, not even pausing as he kicked through the pile of crucibles and clamps. Deaton hummed lightly.

“That Miss Martin is quite impressive.” Deaton remarked to no one in particular.

“How did she find out so quickly?” Derek inquired, one eyebrow climbing towards his hairline.

“I have no idea Derek, I have no idea. Both of you should actually go though. The Lieutenant seems exhausted.” He nodded and followed Chris out the door pulling it close behind him, catching Deaton’s last words before shutting the door completely, _Scott you stay and pick up those crucibles._

 

* * *

 

Many times Derek suspected that in another universe Miss Lydia Martin and Peter Hale were a match made in heaven. Both were cut from the same cloth, manipulative and coquettish and could easily seduce a person with the tongue. Except as Fate would have it, Miss Lydia Martin would become an S-Class Journalist determined to expose the truth to the public regardless of the consequences, while Peter Hale became a Lieutenant, strict protector of public by all means necessary even if it meant hiding certain facts. It was a constant war of minds between them, though some days it could be seen as aggressive flirting as each enjoyed the company of another master mind-controller, but not enough to ever admit it. Today though, their regular banter was more akin to a Godzilla and Mothra fight with a lot of table pounding and fist slapping.

“There is a serial killer on the loose, you have to make this public knowledge!”

“We can’t confirm that as yet!-”

“But the M.O. for all the victims are the exact same, you can’t say that’s not enough proof!”

“How do you even know that? We found the bodies this morning. Derek where the hell does she get her intel from!?” Peter already turned his back on him leaving Derek looking baffled and open-mouthed. “If you even dare try and release that info to the press, I’ll lock you in one of my cells. Personally!”

“You wouldn’t because you know that wouldn’t stop me. It might even make it worse, because you know how the headlines would love to sensationalize the fact that the police are information from the public.”

“Okay fine-”

“And plus locking me up would- wait what?”

“I said okay.” Peter repeated tiredly, “I’ll release a statement.” Lydia eyes bulged and her mouth formed a small ‘o’, as if never expecting Peter to simply hand over something to her.

“I’ll release a statement _only_ until we figure out our mystery murderer’s motive.” Lydia snapped her mouth shut, and chewed her bottom contemplating. It wasn’t exactly what she was expecting, but it was better than nothing.

“Very well. But if there is another murder, I’ll release that statement for you whether you like it or not.” She offered her hand which Peter accepted in a firm shake.

“Lydia one day you will be the death of me.” Peter murmured just loud enough for her to hear.

“I’m sure the feeling is mutual.” She parted with a small smile, “Jackson, time to go we have other work to do.” The male-model-esque figure arose from the leather couch and stepped in behind his boss, nodding apologetically in Peter’s direction before leaving. Quite a pair they made, both beautiful and brilliant turning heads as they left the station.

Peter exhaled loudly and plonked down into his chair, idly pushing the looses paper around on his desk.

“Lieutenant, I think you should go home and rest. Argent and I could cover for you.” Peter gave him a grateful smile.

“Yes I think I will do that. No sense staying here when all my dear greenies seem terrified of me. Who else will get my coffee for me?” Peter looked up at him expectantly. Derek rolled his eyes.

“I’ll go get it, but afterwards you go home.”

“Of course dear nephew. When have I ever not listened to you.” Derek wisely remained silent as he left, no use getting into an argument about that now.

There was a Starbucks nearby, but Derek preferred the pastries from a small coffee shop that was slightly farther away. It was usually busy during lunch hour, but at the moment there was a lull in the crowd, which he easily navigated and made his way to the front of the counter. He placed his order automatically and sidled off to edge, finally relaxing for the day as he took in the smells and sounds of the quaint shop. He let his eye roam over the queuing customers and let his eyes rest on small figure hunched over a table in the far corner. _It couldn’t be, could it?_ He continued to stare, and though almost unrecognizable he was positive that sitting in the corner slurping a mocha iced-coffee and wearing a tattered red-hoodie, was Stiles absolutely engrossed in a dusty old book. Even before he considered it, he had already crossed half the distance of the room making his way to the boy and sitting in the chair opposite him. Stiles hadn’t even flinched, completely unaware of his surroundings. It was so tempting to reach over and tap him on the head for being so careless in a public place, after all Derek was a detective. But it was just as intriguing to just sit and watch him read; it was like he was a completely different person when he wasn’t drunk or covered in glitter. He looked so much younger and innocent.

At that moment Stiles chose to look up, his eyes going wide as he sputtered and choked on his coffee, nearly toppling the table to the floor as he banged it with his knee.

“Uhh- um- Hi uh- Derek?” He wheezed. Derek suppressed a laugh behind his hand.

“Hello Stiles.”

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, this chapter was very hard to write, but I'm kind of satisfied with the way it turned out. I know the ending is pretty cheesy, but I don't like to end a chapter without even a little bit of Stereky-ness. Also as if you couldn't already tell, I didn't really read it over (too tired! Exams!) so let me know if you see dumb mistakes.
> 
> And the ratings have changed because of this sudden plot that came out of nowhere. But sometimes that how life is, like a bottle of soft drink that just explodes in the cupboard for absolutely no reason. That's a bad analogy. Banana is also my favourite flavour, though that really doesn't have anything to do with it.
> 
> Saturdays are now my upload days, at least until mock exams are over, then maybe I could start uploading more often.
> 
> Oh and if anyone wanted to know I drew the picture at the top. If anyone wants to draw another one for this fic I would love to put it in!


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles could feel his heart thumping as Derek boldly took the seat opposite to him. As if this table was totally free or something, and Stiles had given him permission. So rude.  Well not exactly because Stiles even though he didn’t want to admit was more excited  than irritated to be seeing Derek for the second time in as many days. Even if the last time was sort of awkward when he… when he vomited all over his shoes. He inwardly cringed when he remembered how normal Derek seemed about the whole thing as if he was accustomed to throwing away his shoes after twinkish boy prostitutes covered them in puke. Derek was occupied with the waitress who had brought over his order to their table and which for Stiles meant a moment of undisturbed ogling. He was actually quite charming  and full of smiles for the waitress, which was off-putting considering that all the times Stiles had been with him he was either indifferent, irritated  and snarkish or mildly amused. He let his eyes roam lower down his chest, then back to his eyes then to the gun holster strapped to his hips, then maybe a little longer on his actual hips.

“Are you done staring or should I walk down a catwalk for you?” Stiles averted his eyes from going any lower and tried to look him in the eye without furiously blushing.

“Wh-what? I was just checking out your… your badge and making sure you were a real cop.” And not just some supermodel who liked to make hookers uncomfortable. Do hookers even get uncomfortable? Is that even possible?

“Riiight,” He looked down at the book that Stiles was now stroking absent mindedly. It looked worn and old in the way that came from use. He didn’t take Stiles for the reading type and the book didn’t look very much like a contemporary tween drama. It was one of those heavy leather bound copies that was probably filled with fine print text and no pictures. Then again he probably has a lot of free time considering his work hours.

“What are you reading?” He said after taking a sip of his coffee. Well Peter’s coffee, he’ll just have to wait and it’s not like he can’t just get coffee from the station.  For the first time Stiles didn’t have an answer ready for him. He looked torn between actually telling him or making up a lie, which was not what Derek was expecting.

Derek was about to prod him when Stiles murmured into his own coffee cup, “ _Huar piete iiego vilk._ ”

“What? War?” Derek’s eyebrows knitted itself into a forehead scarf while his entire face scrunched up in confusion. “What did you just say?”

“No not ‘war’, ‘HUAR’,” Stiles corrected, pointing to first syllable of the title of the book which Derek could clearly see began with ‘ch’.

“Look it doesn’t matter it’s in Polish…” he was tucking the book away but Derek wasn’t having any of that.

“Let me see,” He was already taking the book out his hands and flipping open to a random page and lo and behold, it was all in Polish. Which kind of looked like English except all the letters were in the wrong place. Something Laura had told him when she started taking Polish in University.

“You know Polish?” Derek was thrown, he might even say impressed but no way was he going to admit it.

“Well bits and pieces, I kind of fumble along.” Derek knew that was a lie, the way he had been tearing through the pages earlier didn’t look like the way a fumbler would read. Stiles was just being modest, which Derek thought was kind of endearing.

“What’s it about then? This ‘whore pizza’ book or whatever.”

“HUAR PIETE,” he said again pointing at the word starting with ‘ch’, “It basically translates to ‘A Boy and his Wolf’.” He looked bashful and ran his fingers through his hair before continuing.

“It’s a children’s book my mom would read to me all the time,” He finished quietly. Derek recognized that tone, it was the same one he used whenever he talked to Laura about their family. Stiles never talked about his family, his real family and not the shitty foster families he stayed with. Telling Derek was unintentional but it wasn’t completely bad. He caught Derek’s eye and it wasn’t the usual look of pity he had seen a thousand times from social workers and people who heard that he was an orphan. There was no pity in Derek’s eye, there was only somber agreement as he silently nodded his head and sighed through his nose. He also knew what it was like to be an orphan.

It was like a door had been opened for Stiles and Derek seemed more than willing to meet him halfway. He carried talking about his mother and how they would both speak in Polish if they wanted to keep something a secret from his father who would just shake his head and go back to reading the newspaper. He talked about the time his father gave him boxing lessons to deal with the bully in first grade, even though he was the town sheriff and should totally be discouraging that kind of behaviour. The conversation strayed far covering all sorts of topics from the weather to which was the best Star Wars movie (from the original trilogy of course).

For Derek it was a cathartic release, as Stiles’ chatter eased his mind off of his roller coaster reality letting the warm smells of coffee infused with cinnamon and sugar seep into his brain. The coffee shop hummed in the background and the light that filtered through the window was just enough to warm his features. Occasionally he would slip a word or two in, but Stiles seemed more than able to carry on a conversation on his own, his expressions and volume growing more enthusiastic as each moment passed. A cold hollow ringing snapped the illusion in half, as his cell phone buzzed indecently in his pocket. Derek couldn’t help the dejected sigh that escaped his lips as he silenced the call before answering it.

He held up a finger to Stiles watching his puff and putter as his thousand-word per minute rambling came to a stumbling halt. It was like watching goldfish gasp as Stiles features drooped obviously disappointed to be so rudely interrupted by Derek’s rude interrupting cell phone. Derek shot him an apologetic smile as he turned away slightly to form some semblance of privacy while he answered the phone.

“Derek that had better be a suspect that you’ve been wasting work hours interviewing in that charming shithole of a coffee shop that you’re so fond of.” Peter’s sickeningly sweet voice crackled over the phone. Derek felt his pores raise and his blood run cold. How long had he been talking to Stiles? Wait, was Peter here? He craned his neck and peered through the frosted glass of the window.  Stiles shot him a bemused look and followed his gaze outside, wondering what on earth had spooked him so.

“Does this table have room for one more?” A cold hand snaked its way around Derek’s neck. Peter looked positively thrilled to see Derek, if he ignored the crazy glint in his eye and the way his fingers dug into his neck. Maybe he should have called, or texted, maybe a telegram would have sufficed…

Peter was not amused.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, I'm really sorry about this insubstantial VERY late chapter...
> 
> And also THANK YOU! I've only received heart warming comments and people asking for more. You guys! Gosh! It really made me blush and gush and flush all over... which looks just as attractive as it sounds.
> 
> I can't say when I can update, and I wish I could say it's real life has me busy. Real life just has me... very sad for reasons I can't say. But don't worry I'm not dead, I'm most likely in my house moping around and on the off chance sweeping up the kitchen.
> 
> I'll shake off this slump soon, so who knows maybe you'll get a chapter sooner than you expect. 
> 
> And again thank you for your comments and your kudos!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Implied bondage

Stiles didn’t know what he was expecting from Derek’s uncle, but he never expected something exactly like… Peter. He smirked to himself as he remembered Derek’s horrified yet utterly embarrassed face which Stiles had delicately catalogued and filed away to the deep dark recesses of his mind. Even though he was his uncle Stiles couldn’t help but squirm for reasons less than noble when Peter had Derek in a literal choke hold. His slender white fingers digging into Derek’s neck, it surely must have left bruises. It was only made worse how easily Peter could sound so sinister yet so charming at the same time as he drank the remaining half of the cold coffee left behind by Derek, not even bothering to wipe off the part where his lips had touched. Stiles wasn’t going to deny that he was more than a little attracted to the older Hale.

His mind was drawn from his fantasy when his present client pushed deeper into him, burying his cock in his ass. It had been three days since the curious encounter with Peter and Derek at the coffee shop, but he couldn’t stop obsessing over it since. The way that Peter pressed his lips close to Derek’s ear to whisper a sweetly spoken threat while at the same time burying his fingers and inch deep into his throat  bruising his skin purple and blue. Stiles imagined those same fingers wrapped around his own slender neck, or sliding up his ass, teasing him open before he buried his cock deep into him while whispering sweet nothings to him. Then he would flip him over, face to face and fuck him senseless at a brutal pace. Sometimes instead of Peter, Stiles would imagine it was Derek and instead of Peter’s thinly veiled threats dripping with sarcasm, Derek would fuck him with a stoic silence briefly punctuated with that soft chuckle and smirk that Stiles had mentally over-used and abused in his fantasies.

A pair of hands gripped at the scruff of his neck and at his waist as the man pressed his chest into his back. The weight pushed Stiles down into the pillow on his forearms and his knees not uncomfortably, but the man was now grabbing around his front roughly grasping his shaft and squeezing their bodies closer together. It was unusual for clients to try to get him off, but some folks had strange fetishes that Stiles never questioned. Instead, he pushed back into the man’s clutch and let his mind slip back into his fantasy of being fucked by Peter, or was it Derek this time. It did cross his mind briefly as to why he was so attracted to Peter.

It was the look in Peter’s eye at the coffee shop when he turned on Stiles and sweetly sang, “Can you tell me what the fuck my nephew is doing chattering with a twink like you?” His voice was hoarse and raspy, his possessiveness evident in the way he way he cooed the words ‘my nephew’. Stiles knew that it was wrong to think of it like that, because anyone with half an eye could see that neither Derek nor Peter got along with each other and their clash was nothing more than an irritated boss berating his employee, but when Peter fucking swore. _Fuck!_ He was edging a climax just thinking of Peter swearing at him, but it was thinking of Derek’s rumbling growls, curses spewing from his lips was what blew him off the edge. His client was gasping as he climaxed, painfully digging bruises into Stiles hips. They remained poised in utter pleasure as the waves of their climax rolled off of them. It had been a long time since Stiles had an orgasm while “on the job”, so long that he suddenly felt very self-conscious and unprofessional for doing so now. Well as unprofessional as someone could feel naked whilst another man had a dick up his ass.

He winced slightly as the man pulled out. A gush of cool air hit his back as the man peeled his chest off his back, then slipped off quietly to presumably the bathroom. This was usually the point where Stiles would get dressed and leave, unless of course he was dealing with a difficult client that only paid after the sex. But he lingered longer than usual, wearied by his climax. He stared at the wet spot on the bed-sheets and felt a cold sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had climaxed while thinking of Derek (and Peter, and Peter doing things to Derek, which was surely not alright.) His heart sank further with each passing moment, as a tendril of guilt wrapped its way around his heart. There must be something in the fictitious Rule Book of Everything Ever that precisely states that a man should never imagine another man getting nasty with his uncle, especially if there is a semblance of friendship between two said men. Was Derek even his friend? They had coffee together, and Derek bought dinner for him twice (if you could a dry bagel and black coffee as dinner) which in Stiles’ book was more than any of his other ‘companions’ had ever done for him. There were even the random, complimentary texts throughout the day, mostly just Stiles bugging Derek about weird shit. Derek was downright gentleman compared the long list of sick fucks Stiles dealt with on a weekly basis.

At least not all of them were sickos acting out their depraved fantasies on Stiles. Like this guy, Mark or Micheal, whatever his name was. He was nice enough, not even counting the massive tip he gave him before they did anything. But then again he was definitely loaded, even his sheets smelled like he washed them in something like Clive Christian cologne.  He must have been drifting off because he didn’t hear when the door opened.

“Matt… the name’s Matt.” Stiles started at the sound of the soft voice. He was curled up on his side all too aware of how familiar he had made himself with the sheets. Definitely not professional. Matt only smiled and gestured for him to stay when he moved to get off.

“Um, ah sorry about that…” Stiles gestured vaguely to the wet spot on the bed. Matt waved him off and sat on the edge of the bed and fixed him with a contemplative stare.

His eyes didn’t leave his as he spoke, which was slightly unnerving for Stiles, “So… Firecracker? How did you get a name like that?” He slid his palm up the side of Stiles’ thigh. It was ice-cold. Stiles’ smirked, it was almost cute that ‘Matt’ was acting so coy, considering that he literally paid him the equivalent he would earn in a month. Like Stiles would complain; if flirting was one of Matt’s kinks then it wouldn’t be one of the worst things that he’s ever experienced. Not by a long shot. And the customer was always right, what the customer wanted, the customer got, and if Matt wanted the Firecracker, then Matt would get the Firecracker.

His body was immediately limber, agile like a cat. He snaked his way close to Matt, his eyes hooded and sultry. He circled his arms around his neck and pressed his lips close to his ear.

“You want to know why they call me the Firecracker?” He husked. Matt shuddered under his touch, Stiles could already see the tent forming in his boxers.

“I can make your blood boil and set your skin on fire.” He licked a hot wet strip on his neck eliciting a deep groan from Matt.

In a flash Matt crowded him against the head board, baring his teeth in a wicked grin his eyes blazing feral. Suddenly, a chill ran down Stiles’ spine as a manic laugh escaped Matt’s lips, then it was the pinch of a handcuff on his right hand that made his mouth go dry.

“Then I wonder what exactly it would take to douse the Firecracker?” Another hand cuff slipped around his left wrist and he was fully chained to the head board. They were custom-made cuffs, with a chain long enough for him to extend his arms in front of him, but just enough for him to cover his face Stiles noted with a sickening feeling of dread overcoming him.

“C’mon don’t act like you haven’t done this before.” There was a sharp crack of a whip making Stiles gulp.

“Oh please,” Stiles’ voice was raspy and heavy and a thousand times surer than he felt, “As if you can out this flame.” Matt’s eyes bulged at the challenge and another cackling laugh escaped his lips. This tip had better be worth it.

 

* * *

 

Derek tapped his pen against the file, willing it to magic itself into filling out the reports on his desk. Most of them Peter dumped on him as punishment for playing hookey with his coffee but Derek guessed that it was more to do with Peter being so overworked as of late. Chris shot him an irritated look forcing him to stop tapping his pen, possibly still feeling angry at Derek for dragging him into Peter’s cruel punishment. It was already after 10 and both of them were still scratching away at the dotted lines and filling in boxes. Most of the other officers had gone home, including Peter which no one could really blame.

“Why are we doing this again?”

“Because the Lieutenant trusts us enough to dump his work on us.” Derek said not quite meeting his eye.

“And you’re sure it has nothing to do with you going MIA three days ago? I’m pretty sure Peter was pissed at you for that.”

“Chris.”

“Derek.”

There was the customary staring showdown, eyebrows flexing fantastically, unfortunately for Derek, Chris took this one. This time at least.

Derek sighed through his nose and turned back to his pile of unfinished reports, which strangely seemed to be the same size despite being at it for three days. He shot a suspicious glare at Chris, who offered a totally guilty shrug. He grabbed at the first one he laid his hand on and flipped through to the back. It was bad enough to have to do these bloody reports, but it was even worse to know that of all people Chris, could make him feel bad about it. Apparently, when Derek had waltzed out on his escapade (Peter’s words) a new body had turned up and for some reason no one could reach Derek’s cell while he was at the coffee shop; unless of course they were in the same building, which Peter had found out. But negating from that fact, Derek’s disappearance meant that Peter once again had to be the one to declare the crime scene with a none too pleased Chris. Who was now shooting glares into the back of his neck. Derek could understand why the both of them were angry at the moment, especially Peter who had been exhausted, but not exhausted enough to not creep up on him at the coffee shop and scare him shitless. He had never seen Peter so agitated, but when he saw the body he saw that it was more than just Derek’s lackadaisical behaviour that was bothering him.

This was a real serial killer on their hands, a cold calculating murderer who didn’t show any signs of slowing down. Even Lydia’s tenacity had been tempered when she saw the body. None of her intel told of the gruesome state that the killer left his victims in, and Lydia wasn’t any fool. A flamboyant killer like this would only spark copy-cats and for once, Lydia agreed with Peter that maybe they should keep this under wraps until they at least had a suspect.

Derek distractedly traced the outline of his phone pressed tight in his pocket. Something else was also on his mind. He had somehow formed a weird texting routine with Stiles. Mostly initiated by Stiles, talking about things Stiles liked, and what Stiles was doing. A lot of which Derek guessed was bullshit just meant to mess with him, though there were some comments he made about his uncle that bothered him a bit. He flipped open his phone and scrolled through their latest conversation.

_Stiles 20:56 19-11-12_

[ I think you’re uncle is sexy ;) Tell him he can have a piece of Stiles anytime.]

 

_Derek 20:59 19-11-12_

[ … You have horrible taste]

 

_Stiles 21:00 19-11-12_

[ But you’re also sexy :P ;) So I don’t think there’s anything wrong with my taste]

 

_Derek 21:01 19-11-12_

[Can we just not talk about my Uncle? It’s disgusting -.-]

 

_Stiles 21:02 19-11-12_

[But Keeping Up With The Hales is my fav thing like evar! And I didn't miss the fact that you don't mind me thinking you're sexy ;)]

 

_Derek 21:04 19-11-12_

[Don’t you have anything better to do than bug me? I’m busy]

 

_Stiles 21:04 19-11-12_

[Then all the more reason to bug you >:)]

 

  _Derek 21:05 19-11-12_

[That’s not why I gave you my number]

 

_Stiles 21:05 19-11-12_

[But you still gave me your number knowing fully well that this might happen]

 

_Stiles 21:07 19-11-12_

[besides don’t act like you don’t love my random facts on sloths or your daily reminder that your uncle is sexy]

 

_Derek 21:07 19-11-12_

[Ugghh stoooopp! >.< Does Uncle mean anything to you?]

 

_Stiles 21:08 19-11-12_

[All’s fair in Love and War :P]

 

_Derek 21:10 19-11-12_

[Goodnight Stiles]

 

_Stiles 21:11 19-11-12_

[:O Oh no you din’t!!!]

 

_Stiles 21:12 19-11-12_

[>:@]

 

_Stiles 21:15 19-11-12_

[<@-@>]

 

_Stiles 21:30 19-11-12_

[Well fine then! I’ll just get into this car which looks suspiciously like Peter’s ;) I’ll be sure to include all the disgusting deets l8r! Ttyl  :x <3]

 

Derek read over the last text and felt a familiar irritation under his skin. Stiles knew he hated hearing him talk about his uncle (though sometimes he wasn’t sure if Stiles was just joking or if he actually thought his uncle was hot), but Stiles also knew that Derek hated hearing him talk about his job even more. Getting to know Stiles more as a person only made it worse. He was a detective and by default an officer and protector, so it was only natural that he would be disgusted to think of people taking advantage of those weaker than them. Though Stiles plenty reminded him that he was more than able to take care of himself. But it didn’t stop the frustrated sigh that passed his lips. It was late and there was just too much fucking paper work.

“Fuck it all. Chris let’s go, we’ll finish this tomorrow.”

Chris gave him a wry smile, “Finally, I was wondering when you would just give up.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I didn't disappoint anybody who wanted to see a play by play of what happened in the coffee shop. I wanted to just move things along a little faster. I have a clear plot set out and I'll try my hardest to churn this out as fast as possible.
> 
> Also thank you guys for your amazing words :) 'm feeling much better and your comments really did cheer me up!!! You guys are really the best :') <3


	6. Chapter 6

The one thing they never tell you about bondage, is that there’s less sex than you would expect involved. In between being re-shackled and smacked around, Stiles guessed that Matt had probably spent more time beating him up than it would take for Erica to choose between a dark gray and a charcoal jumper to wear. Because apparently these two things aren’t the same colour (which Stiles had learned the hard way), and also one has to take a ridiculously long time to pick between the two. Speaking of charcoal and gray, Matt seemed to own almost every shade of suede and leather loafers. Isaac would definitely be jealous.

“Oi,” a cold fleshy stub poked him in the rib cage, “Get up, you’ve been just sitting there staring into my cupboard forever.” Matt looked down at him, still dripping wet from the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist. Stiles lifted his head slowly, feeling exhausted and his entire body lanced like a massive throbbing bruise. He felt swollen and heated where Matt’s sharp blows struck and he could barely register that he was sitting on the plush carpeted bedroom floor, leaning on the bed post. Completely naked. It’s a bad sign when you don’t even realize you’re naked in someone else’s bedroom.

“Hey,” Matt’s voice was softer, “Come on now, you should take a hot shower. It would make you feel better.” Stiles wanted to flee and struggle, to kick back and run away as Matt bent over and lifted him into his arms. But he was just too tired and sore, letting his head roll as far away as possible from his offender to hide the silent tears that slid down his bruised face. Matt clucked his tongue disapprovingly but said nothing, quickly shedding the towel clinging to his hips and slipping into the shower with Stiles.

He was gentle as he rubbed the sweet smelling soap into his skin, letting the hot water roll over the angriest looking bruises. If Stiles hadn’t been reduced to a mere bag of bones he would’ve made a snide remark about Matt’s bipolar tendencies to bash people’s face in then act like they’re made of the most fragile china in the world. But he couldn’t, and after a while he wouldn’t have bothered because now Matt was murmuring nonsensical sweet nothings and tender apologies into his ear. He continued washing him, meticulously going over every nook and cranny of Stiles’ body, exploring him with lightly touching fingers and pressing butterfly kisses onto the red welts that peppered his pale skin.

The pain had subsided replaced only by a pleasurable tingling that flowed through his body. Somewhere along Matt had pulled him close, face to face and was staring hungrily at his lips, red and plump from the steam of the shower. He recoiled at first, like he had been shocked and bitten at the same time when Matt kissed him. If there was any constant in Stiles’ life, it was that he never kissed on the job. He wasn’t even sure if he had ever been kissed before, but it was like a spark that roused him from his exhausted state, shattering the docile calm from the soothing hot water. Stiles shoved him off as best as he could shooting him his hardest glares. At least Matt had the tact to look sheepish, as he stepped out of the shower.

“Sorry. I think maybe I went too far,” his tone was indiscernible and he had his back turned to Stiles as he wrapped the towel around his waist, “I’ll leave some clothes for you in the bedroom seeing as I ruined yours.” And just like that he was gone. Stiles waited until he heard Matt leave the bedroom, before dashing in looking for his clothes and just to bolt out the door. But on the bed was a neat pile of folded jeans, a t-shirt and a warm red jacket and his clothes nowhere to be found. They fit too well to have been a coincidence, Matt was probably the same height as him but he definitely bigger in size; they were even something that Stiles would totally wear if he could afford it, seeing as everything Matt owned was either made in France or Italy. Though sticking around to find out was the last thing on Stiles’ mind as he fled, not even bothering with the elevator as he scampered down the 26 flights of stairs taking two at a time.

He had made it six blocks before he even felt the roll of cash wadded up in his jeans pocket, and on the inside there was a cheekily written note from Matt, “ _I took your number while you were in the shower. I hope we can have a repeat of tonight!”_

A curling tendril of dread snaked its way around his heart as he thought of Matt not only violating him in every way possible, but even robbing him of the privacy of his own phone. He scrunched on the note and pelted it as far as he could watching it roll into a trickling gutter to be swept away by morning along with the rest of the scum. His life was nothing but ups and downs, at least if all else failed he could always go back to the apartment to Erica and Isaac. Though, as he paused to look at his reflection in the darkened store window, they would be disappointed to see him looking like a battered woman.

 

* * *

 

_“What do you mean you’re leaving!” Stiles shouted. The morning sunlight streamed in through the greasy windows, reflecting off the little glass tumblers half wrapped in newspaper. Erica and Isaac shared an awkward look._

_“We mean that,” Isaac started gently as he continued stuffing a cardboard box with newspaper, “We’re moving to, a proper apartment uptown. We can’t keep living here forever.”_

_“ You should come you know,” Erica filled in quickly, “We always hoped you would come-”_

_“But when did you decide this.”_

_“ What do you mean when?” Isaac tore off a long strip of masking tape with a horrific ripping sound, “Since last week we’ve been telling you about this place.”_

_“ Well I’m sorry I’m not very receptive early in the morning. I don’t have a day job like ‘decent’ Isaac and Erica now you know.” Stile’s made little mocking air-quotes as he spoke._

_“Don’t start with that now! We told you we could get you an interview if you wanted! You kept saying no every time we offered, so you don’t get to say bullshit like ‘decent Isaac’!”_

_“ What? Are you suddenly too good for my bullshit now? Besides I NEVER wanted a job! I don’t care! You guys can just leave, it doesn’t matter to me!”_

_“ Stiles! Wait! Isaac why did you have to get so mad at him.”_

He could still hear the muffled arguing from the kitchen where he sat on the cold stairs leading out of their apartment. It wasn’t much of a staircase he thought bitterly toeing at the gaping hole in the floorboards. On another day he would have felt like a daring man for even going near the massive hole, but today he just wished he could slip through the cracks and never see the light of day again. He knew he was being unfair to Isaac and Erica for making them feel guilty for what was ultimately his own life choices. And to ask them to stay was just plain selfish. But goddammit was he ever selfish. Tears prickled at the corner of his eyes, threatening to burst forth. The door creaked open behind him and in moments he was enveloped in curly golden locks and warms arms. Isaac slipped his long arms around him and Erica and buried his head into his neck. Erica brushed the freely flowing tears from his eyes and pressed a sweet kiss into his forehead. In moments he had gone from shouting and raving mad to a weeping blubbering mess, begging them not to go while hiccoughing apologies through a veil of tears. Erica shushed him gently and let him cry into her shoulder. Stiles didn’t know how long they sat there in the draughty staircase, but by the time Isaac spoke up the tears had dried on his cheeks and his breathing returned to normal.

“Stiles, come with us.” It wasn’t a question or a plea. It was a quiet command only Isaac could pull off, and it was there that perhaps in over a year Stiles felt the long forgotten rush of anticipation over the future. All the reasons and walls he built up as an excuse to stay in this rat-hole of an apartment after Erica and Isaac left crumbled away leaving him suddenly unsure and fearful. It was so easy before to say that he could live by himself, doing what he was good at, but now faced with the actuality that Erica and Isaac would be gone he was suddenly cowed by the decision.

Erica lifted his chin and looked into his eyes, her own rimmed with tears, “Stiles, you _are_ family. Please come.” Isaac gripped him tighter and took in a sharp breath. He shifted his large glossy eyes from Erica to Isaac silently mouthing words before squeezing his own eyes shut and letting a few tears roll down his cheeks. He took a steadying breath and held his head stiffly, the corners of his lips lifting slightly.

“Then you should help me pack.”

 

* * *

 

Leaving had been the easy part if not a little uncomfortable when all three of them plus two large boxes squeezed themselves into Boyd’s respectable coupe. Stiles had been expecting the trip to be extremely awkward but it was pleasantly quiet. Boyd had given him a once over as he clamboured into the back seat burdened with his own box of belongings before giving him a disarming smiling and murmuring just for him to hear, “Glad to see you made the right choice.” He winked at him through the tinted glass leaving an open-mouthed Stiles to blush furiously.

But then there was the hard part; finding Stiles a job. Theoretically, it should have been quite easy considering that Stiles had written his SATs at 16 and had gotten some pretty impressive grades, courtesy Frank, his abusive foster father who forced him not only on his knees but also to get straight As. But good grades or not, the yellowing bruise decorating his cheek and his eye were going to be a problem.

“And maybe you should get a hair-cut.”

“Eh?” Stiles blinked dumbly at the bank manager sitting before him. They were at the soon-to-be-theirs apartment where he and Boyd were sitting in the warmly lit dining area while Isaac and Erica unpacked their meager belongings. The apartment wasn’t super impressive by any means, but it was more than they ever had considering the dump they lived in for over a year. He could hear Isaac and Erica flicking light switches on and off before shrieking a little when they discovered the small bath in the master bedroom bathroom. In the last place they lived they were lucky to even have water or heat in the winter months, a far cry from having a luxurious soak in a tub whenever they felt. Stiles gave an embarrassed smile, quite relieved to see Boyd sharing their excitement.

“So where do you think you might like to work?” Boyd tilted his head in his palm and gave Stiles his full attention.

Stiles patted his hair self-consciously wondering whether Boyd was really serious about the hair-cut comment. It wasn’t that long, well it was kind of past the point of charming and was encroaching into the realms of shaggy but surely he didn’t need a haircut just yet.

“Stiles,” Boyd waved a large hand in front of his face, “Focus.”

“Ah um- Sorry. I’m just, it’s a lot to take in.” Boyd’s face softened into a grin.

“I know, isn’t it exciting.” His tone was dry and good natured and it reminded him of someone.

“Or maybe scary as fuck.” Stiles corrected. Boyd laughed and shook his head.

“Well,” Stiles paused to thoughtfully chew on his lip, “There is a coffee shop I go to all the time. I even know some of the baristas by name, maybe I could apply there?” Boyd looked impressed and nodded in agreement.

“That would be an excellent place to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry guys I had this sitting around forever and never updated. I feel like I'm probably even killing some of you with my extraordinary slowness in pacing and updating *grovels*. Don't hate me my loves! I'm always super constantly excited about writing this fic so I have not given up. 
> 
> I want to give all you lovely peoples mushy mushy kissy kissy! You make me so happy! :) <3
> 
> I don't get the American education system, but where I'm from you can write SATs at 16 and get accepted into an undergraduate program abroad. Some people do this AND also write their normal O'level equivalent exams but very few people do. Instead if someone is doing SATs they would do them after their O'levels, in lower 6 or upper 6 (sometimes twice because they "didn't get good enough grades").  
> But I figured Stiles is smart, he could write SATs at 16.


	7. Chapter 7

Those words rang in Stiles’ ears long after Boyd had left and Erica and Isaac went off to work. A strange feeling had overcome him as he laid on the bare mattress in the room he and Isaac shared. The room was unfurnished and but it felt far from empty. He was surrounded by Isaac’s and his own clothes and there was the lingering scent of fragrant perfume that Erica had taken to wearing. Sometimes Isaac teased her about it being a present from her ‘dear darling Boyd’ and then she would blush ruby red and suddenly become interested in doing chores. Stiles had long established that it was a running joke that Erica and Isaac liked to play the whoring-wife and the hooker-husband, while Stiles played the slutty-son, but now it felt as if they were actually a real family. Erica and Isaac (so many things to thank Boyd for) managed to get decent people jobs and instead of a band of merry hookers playing family, they were just a merry band playing family. Like most people their age. Dare he even think, they were downright normal. It was mind blowing.

In one morning Stiles had gone from dare-devil night walker teetering between life and death, to now rooming with his two best (only) friends and having a potentially shitty job at a coffee shop. All he needed now was a metric fuck-ton of student loans and an acceptance letter to college under his belt and soon no one would even believe the kind of life he lived for the past 6 years after his father died. He rolled on his stomach to quell the fluttering queasy feeling in his middle. Is this what it felt like to be normal? If he didn’t know better he would’ve thought those butterflies were merely indigestion from convenience store pizza. Maybe it was a dream, proceeded to smack his face an uncomfortable shade of red. He considered going for a bruise when his phone jarred indecently at his hip.

_Derek 13:15 21-11-12_

Heeeeyy1!!

_Derek 13:15 21-11-12_

Haven’t heard from you in a while!

_Derek 13:16 21-11-12_

Is everything oka?

_Derek 13:16 21-11-12_

Okay*

The messages came rapid fire, one after the other. Stiles paused to stare at the exceptional number of exclamation points, very un-Derek like. He couldn’t help the heart flutter in his chest when he read the third message, typo and all. Even if it reminded him of the time Isaac took Erica’s phone and sexted a bunch of naughty pick-up lines and cheesy quotes to Boyd, and even though it almost ended in a fist fight (Erica won) that was just a thing friends did. Did Derek even have friends? (Chris GODDAMMIT GIVE ME THE FUCKING PHONE!) His phone buzzed again _Ahhh! Now here comes the explanation._ His heart sank marginally in his chest as the phone screen lit up blue in his hands. He secretly wished maybe in a snowball’s chance it was actually Derek.

_Derek 13:16 21-11-12_

Sorry that was my dumbass friend. (“Nailed it.” Stiles bitterly thought)

But I am actually worried. Are you alright?

He nearly dropped the phone on his face as he re-read the last line of text. A warm feeling crept up his neck and his ears tingled as he felt a blush rise to his features.

_Stiles 13:17 21-11-12_

I knew it was your friend. Just been busy. I moved.

_Derek 13:17 21-11-12_

Oh really? How come?

Stiles could literally feel the restraint behind those pixilated letters, barely masking the underlying panic of his tone.

_Stiles 13:18 21-11-12_

It’s not because I got in trouble with “my pimp”. I don’t have a pimp so stop thinking I ran away from my pimp. Jfc.

_Derek 13:19 21-11-12_

Okay. But still. Why? (jfc?)

_Derek 13:19 21-11-12_

Oh… Jesus fucking Christ. Cute.

_Stiles 13:20 21-11-12_

I got a job.

He knew he was being purposefully ominous, but sometimes toying with Derek was too irresistible.

_Derek 13:20 21-11-12_

A job? What kind of job? Stiles stop being so goddamn cryptic.

He couldn’t help the small bubble of laughter that escaped his chest.

_Stiles 13:21 21-11-12_

I got a job at the coffee shop.  #swagcoffeehipstershit

Derek felt a stab of pride in his heart and a fuzzy warmth of relief in his middle, pausing only momentarily to check if he was smiling outwardly. (Chris was a notorious dick as it was, no need to give him ammo)

_Derek 13:21 21-11-12_

That’s great! Would be nice to see you in an apron instead of high heel boots and leather leggings.

_Did Derek just say I would look good in an apron?_

_Did I just say he would look good in an apron?_

_Stiles 13:22 21-11-12_

Lol fuck you Derek. ;) I look good in everything.

_Derek 13:22 21-11-12_

I know you want to. :P And agreed.

Stiles shot up from the mattress and sat stock still. Derek never flirted with him even if it was just for kicks. Was his friend just trolling him again? Yes, that must be it. In a minute he’ll get another text from Derek (right on cue his phone buzzed) once again, explaining and apologizing for his friend stealing his phone.

_Derek 13:23 21-11-12_

I have to go now. Tell me when your first shift starts I’ll try to swing by.

He stared at the phone till it went black. His fingers felt numb and fuzzy and his mind whirred uselessly like cheap fan.

_Stiles 13:25 21-11-12_

Tmrw. @ 10 o’ clock.

He lay the phone on its side like a ticking time bomb and eased his body next to it, staring at his distorted reflection in the darkened screen. Maybe it’s okay to continue crushing on Derek for a while. Besides it just a crush, it’s not like he’s expecting Derek to reciprocate any sort of feelings.

 

* * *

 

Chris sat across from him looking mildly annoyed.

“What?” It was more of a grunt but Derek couldn’t be arsed.

“So who is ‘Stiles’? Is she your girl friend?” Derek thought it was cute how Chris’ huffy air-quotes and snarky tone could be easily mistaken for misplaced jealousy. But underneath it all there was a warning gleam in his eye reminding Derek of his horrible taste in women.

“Stiles is just a friend.” _And also a guy… And ex-prostitute._

“Just like how Amy was just a friend?” Derek winced, and hissed under his breath as he nursed his burnt pride. Maybe bringing up Kate would be exceedingly brutal, but Derek was saved from having to find out as Peter waltzed in and slapped down a sheaf files on Derek’s already cluttered desk. Where did Peter even get these files from? Did he just store a bunch of manila folders in his back pocket so he can slap them around whenever he felt the need to speak to his minions? _Yes_ Derek’s mind whispered conspiratorially.

“Detectives,” He nodded to both Chris and himself, “A word in my office.” He swept off, stealthily leaving behind the mini-case file of most likely traffic reports on Derek’s desk. _Sneaky bastard pawning off his work on me._

“Both of you are my leading men on the case, but after three weeks we still haven’t been able to identify any of our murder victims.” Peter looked exasperated and shook his head as if to clear the disbelief that clouded his mind. “No other bodies have been found since the first four and we don’t know when he’ll strike again. There’s no telling if he hasn’t chosen a victim already, and from what we can tell he most likely kidnaps his victims and keeps them hidden for God knows how long, then goes about erasing their history. It’s as if these four girls in our freezer never existed to begin with.”

Chris shifted on his feet, “I read the autopsy report, and despite his gruesome… work it seems that he has a meticulous process. He has a pattern that he always follows.” He tapped a finger to his head, “Concussion, binding,” he traced the circumference of his wrist, “Gagging,” his fingers briefly flitted to his throat, “Then he goes for the chest.”

“Everything else is done post mortem, like his signature embellishment and even that is done very methodically,” Derek and Chris nodded at each other. They had discussed this earlier when going over the data analysis reports.

“And then he celebrates with some good ol’ fashioned butcher-shop sex.” There was a collective inward cringe as Peter dutifully reminded them that their murdered had necrophilia tendencies.

“But,” Chris pressed, “The fourth victim did not comply with his MO. It was sloppy and rushed.”

“Exactly. He probably didn’t even intend for it to happen. Our murdered is an organized man, he lives and breathes for planning. Something must have happened for him to make such a mistake.” Peter said through steepled fingers, “It also explains why all four victims were found on the same day.”

The room was momentarily silent as each man pondered on their own thoughts regarding the murderer.

“Well Peter I don’t expect you called us here to talk about the findings. What’s the real reason.” Derek inquired breaking the silence. Peter exhaled through his nose and pressed his lips into a thin line.

“The FEDs are sending down one of their boys tomorrow. I’ve been told he’s been in the area for a while now, quite settled in so I thought I should give you the heads up before you embarrass yourself trying to impress the foreigner with your native skills.” He clearly directed at Derek.

“I do not show off my ‘native skills’, whatever that means.” Derek bit out.

“Suuree.” Chris mused with a barely concealed smirk, “But still, I don’t feel like it’s necessary to saddle us with a fat-cat agent. We don’t have time for babysitting.” Chris looked genuinely displeased.

“I’ve been told he’s good. Like real good. So play nice. Especially you Derek, I know you don’t like to share.” Derek wrinkled his nose at him and rolled his eyes.

“Now run along, I believe there are some traffic reports on your desk. You too Argent, right under your massive stapler.” Chris was cut off mid-retort as Derek hustled him out. No use landing them anymore paperwork than necessary.

 

* * *

 

“First day of work. Yep no problem. I just got to get through this day like any day else. Not like I don’t know how to attract a customer”, _No you know how to sell blow jobs, not coffee._ Stiles clamped his mouth shut before anyone could give him strange looks for muttering to himself. On the outside, Stiles a lovely collection of varying shades of pink. Pink under his collar where he scrubbed too hard in the morning shower, pink where his hands clenched and unclenched nervously behind his back when the manager explained how to use the coffee grinder and cash register, and pink behind his ears as he blushed every time he looked down at his apron. _Derek is a dork for liking aprons,_ he thought as he picked as the soft cotton-mixed material.

He was a little more than excited to be seeing Derek again, even if he was just a lowly peon in a coffee shop. It’s not as if this would be the most embarrassing situation Derek has seen him in. It would take cosmic levels of embarrassing to trump those dark days of glitter and leather. Not that he was ashamed, but it would be a long time coming before he could bring up his escapades as a hooker with anyone. Especially not on the first day of the job. Today was the day to make first impressions and cement his life as normal.

It was half ten now. Maybe Derek wouldn’t turn up? The thought did provide some relief, and pulled down on the foam tap spilling all over the cup for already irate customer impatiently tapping his foot in line. As much as he hated to admit it, he wanted to impress Derek with his ‘awesome coffee skills’ and foam art but couldn’t get past making a creamy mess. It was harder than it looked as Danny drew out lovely flower petals in the thin layer of cream.

“Try not to be so tense. You’re doing just fine.” Danny winked at him. If it had been a lesser man, that line could’ve only been cheese flavoured with extra toppings of cheese and cheese sauce. Maybe it had to do with the fact that Danny was gay. Would it be considered flirting then? Wait was Danny some kind of stud, and Stiles was just some ass to be plundered? It would totally explain why he was so smooth with all of the customers. Maybe they’re all just having sex with Danny. _Goddammit get it together Stiles! Danny is just good at his job, stop being a pervert._

The thoughts in his head quieted once again, allowing him to become immersed in his job. The minutes slipped past, as he fell into a routine dance with Danny, him taking orders and ringing up the cash register. It was light and methodical, and he was so immersed that he hadn’t realized that it was almost quarter to one when Danny tapped him on his shoulder and told him to take a little break as the crowd thinned.

“You can’t leave the counter, because we’re understaffed at the moment but you could sit on the stool near the cash register and rest your feet.” Danny slipped in the back room letting a burst of warm pastry and jelly filled tarts smell waft into the already thick atmosphere of the coffee shop.

It was a scent that he could never tire of and the main reason why he liked coming here in the first place. It was a surprise that he wasn’t more familiar with Danny considering how often he would come here to read in the corner of the coffee shop. Then again, the guy’s position he was filling at the moment was the one who helped Stiles get the job. He was leaving to finish his degree abroad and generously recommended Stiles for the position, and he was hired within a day. They didn’t even know each other on first name basis, but they just connected. Maybe he should ask Danny about him later.

“First day on the job and you waste time doodling dicks on napkins? They clearly don’t pay you enough.” Stiles grinned down at the napkin as he recognized that raspy tone.

“FYI I spent all morning serving up douche-bag coffees and ridiculously named frappuccinos, and these are not dicks, they’re just mini-versions of you.” Derek huffed out a laugh his eyes twinkling with mirth. Stiles had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from grinning like an idiot.

“Where were you, I thought you said you stop by this morning?” Stiles couldn’t help the small pout that formed on his lips.

“I never said that, I just said I’ll swing by whenever.” The furrow that formed on Stiles’ brow deepened, “And I also had to debrief someone down at the station. It was a tiring process… process for everyone.” Derek didn’t need to explain himself, but it made him feel dirty to disappoint Stiles. Since when had he started caring so much?

“So you came down here to thinking you could scam some free coffee out of me. Well joke’s on you buddy, I’m pretty sure everything I make tastes like shit.” Stiles laughed at his own joke, which made Derek’s heart swell with affection.

“It doesn’t matter if it is shit, I’m pretty sure free coffee from anywhere trumps that sludge they serve down at the station.” A figure walked up behind Derek and smiling at Stiles. The world slowed on its axis coming to a complete halt. Stiles felt that the coffee shop was too small, a chilling fear crept up his spine. Those sharp eyes and gleaming white teeth stared back at him, it was like a crocodile dressed in a gentleman’s suit. He even wore his gray suede loafers that matched impeccably with his fine pressed suit.

“Oh Stiles, this here is Agent Daehler. The one I had to debrief. Matt this is Stiles, a friend of mine.” Matt held out his hand to Stiles and cocked his head in an obnoxiously endearing way, but Stiles could see the knowing smirk behind that fake cherry grin. Stiles felt like he was going to be sick. Why on earth was Derek acting so friendly with him. This man was a disgusting bastard.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Stiles.”

“Charmed.” Stiles gritted out, feeling his hand crushed under Matt’s powerful grip.

Things were definitely becoming more complicated.   

 

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Derek wasn’t blind, he could see the effect Matt had on Stiles. He could almost reach across the counter and wipe the proverbial sweat off Stiles’ brow. What he wanted to know was why. Matt’s face was a smooth mask of placidity. Disregarding Stiles’ expression Matt looked simply like a man merely shaking the hand of another man in a friendly situation. Derek would have been less surprised if Stiles’ tried to flirt with Matt, granted his disarming smile and cute dimples, but this reaction was slightly concerning. Not that he would condone any flirtations directed to his co-workers, just Stiles mentioning his uncle was creepy enough. And lately kind of infuriating. A tiny voice at the back of his noted how he failed to include himself on his mental list of who Stiles should not flirt with.

“Derek we should really be getting back soon, I’ll go wait in the car.” Matt friendlily thumped him on the back and left him and Stiles alone. It didn’t escape his notice how the tension left Stiles’ features as his eyes followed the sharp cut silhouette of Matt’s figure out the door.

“Do you know Matt?” Derek directed his furrowed brow at Stiles.

“Uh, no. No, this is the first time.” _That had to be a lie._

“Really? It seemed like you knew him just now.”

“No,” there was a contemplative pause, “He reminds me of somebody I used to know.” _Not sure if that is a lie._ Derek continued to study Stiles’ face which had taken on a downcast reflective state. Maybe Derek was just overanalyzing the situation. After all Stiles freaking out over remembering somebody from the past was the more plausible answer in any case, it was highly unlikely that he had any connection a FBI agent.

Though looking at Stiles’ unusually quiet state made everything questionable.

“Here, I know you like your coffee with too much cream and not enough sugar.” A small crooked smile lifted his features as he slid the hot beverage over to Derek.

He couldn’t help but quirk his brow, “Wait how did you know that?” Stiles made a face of mock exasperation.

“Because you told me,” Now it was Derek’s turn to make  face. It was hard to keep up with the amount of asinine things they went through on a daily basis during their mini text-a-thons. Most of the time it was Stiles leading the conversation, but he had taken it for granted that Stiles would remember the seemingly arbitrary things he told him. The thought made his shift in his shoes a little. It was endearing to have someone remember trivial facts about, if not downright flattering. Stiles was now grinning up at him.

“Thank you Stiles.” He couldn’t help the warm smile that spread across his features.

“No problem amigo. And here’s one for Mr. Dimples. He’s really cute.” It was like someone threw snot on a candle flame how fast the warmth left his chest. He was still smiling down at Stiles but it was closer to a wolf glaring down at his prey.

“Sure.” His tone short and clipped. Stiles didn’t notice, or feigned ignorance. It didn’t matter to Derek though, he thought as he pushed his way outside and briefly braved the chilly weather before joining Matt in his car parked outside.

He wordlessly handed Matt his coffee and started up the car.

“He seems like a nice kid,” Matt chimed in, “And this is some good coffee.”

“Yeah.” His tone icy as he tried to tamp down all this irrational anger welling up inside of him. He took a sip of his own coffee, _Damn it really is good,_ which only made his temper worse.

 

* * *

 

The moment Derek stepped out of the door, Stiles felt his legs crumple under his and his back side hitting the hard wooden stool. He drew his hand up to his mouth and almost choked on his own breathing which had somehow gotten wildly out of control. His heart pounded like a racehorse in his chest and he swore he was going into cardiac arrest. _What the fuck, that was definitely Matt_. The sadistic bastard totally called him out, even if he was willing to play that game where they just pretend they totally did not have sex. _But it’s not like he can do anything to me now, I have a normal job and a normal life_ , he pondered. The thought brought him a moment of clarity, and it was true that Matt may have been one of his clients in the past, but that was all that it was; in the past. His breathing returned to normal and his heart slowed to a comfortable pace after a few minutes of turning it over in his head. Soon Danny would call for him from the back to help him bring out some fresh pastries, then maybe he could sneak in a couple of texts to Derek and after work he could meet up with Isaac and Erica. _There’s Danny now setting up the cooling racks._

“Hey, Stiles can you come in the back here?” Right on cue.

“Yeah, coming.” There was definitely nothing to worry about, his life was finally normal.

 

* * *

 

“Works hard doesn’t he?” Chris nudged Derek in his ribs with a small grin.

“Yeah,” Derek agreed in a somewhat amazed tone. He knew Matt was a friendly guy, if not a bit of a smooth talker by the way he carried about himself. Earlier in the day during the debriefing session he managed to flirt his way around the office, much to the annoyance of Peter who watched him from a distance as a few greenies slipped their numbers to the new agent. But now that they were back and actually ready to work Peter was hopping mad looking for a reason to tear him a new one, only problem was that Matt was actually doing his job. Quite well from what Derek could see. He was even respectful to the senior officers, though watching Chris fluff up as Matt referred to him as sir seemed a bit much.

Matt was already elbows deep in the archives looking for anything that could co-relate with their mystery serial killer. There was a good chance that this would end up in the cold cases files but it didn’t stop the young FBI agent from trying hard to dig up any leads. At least it meant that Derek and Chris didn’t have to pull any overtime hours now they had the FBI covering this case.

“It’s been a while since we’ve had any free time.” Remarked Derek.

“Since when do you care about free time? It’s not like anybody’s waiting for you in that massive apartment you have.” Chris chipped in. Derek scoffed and turned his back.

“Yeah well-”

“Well what?” Chris cut in, his eyes narrowed suspiciously, “Is it that mystery girl Stiles?” Derek grimaced slightly, there was just so much wrong with that sentence. And Derek probably shouldn’t have looked around to see if anyone overheard, by anyone he meant Matt, probably the only one in the room who met Stiles. It wasn’t that he wanted to keep Stiles a secret, but having Chris going around telling people Stiles was his girlfriend could make things a little awkward.

“Wait, so you and Stiles-”

“Shhh!” Derek cut him off with a furious whisper, “Stiles isn’t even a girl.”

“Wait what,” Chris sputtered a little. He looked thrown for a second then an awkward misunderstanding settled over him, “You know that I don’t care if you dig guys, right?”

“What!? Chris!” Derek exasperated, “No-no-no-no Chris you’ve got it all wrong, he’s just a friend.”

“Who’s just a friend?” Derek swore he almost bit off his tongue as that smooth voice reached his ear.

“Who’s just a friend!” Peter repeated, taking a hold Derek’s shoulder. Sometimes Derek seriously wondered if his uncle was actually Satan hiding under the guise of a lecherous thirty-something year old man.

“No one, absolutely no one. Detective Argent and I are going now. Lieutenant.” He gave a sharp nod and turned on his heel not quite meeting his Lieutenant’s eye. Peter raised an eyebrow questioningly at Chris, who knew better than to get mixed up with the Hale family affairs and trotted after his partner.

Derek made his way across the freezing parking lot to his car. It was only three in the afternoon and the sky was already darkening and puddles of water were hardening to slush and ice. While he loved living in New York, the only thing he hated were the harsh winters. The last week of November and already there were traffic reports of accidents due to slippery roads. He had long tuned out the cheesy Christmas carols that had been blaring in little shops and department stores dotted all over the city since October but nothing got him more into the Christmas spirit than arresting drunk Santas accused of groping the elves.

He slammed the door shut and flipped on the heat in his car, rubbing the feeling back into his fingers. It was only a short walk from the station to his car and he was already chilled through the skin. Chris clambered in shortly after.

“It’s gunna be a cold one this year,” Chris spoke out loud not particularly directed at anyone as he waved his fingers in front of the vent.

“Seriously Derek, who is Stiles. And don’t say no one, you act like I can’t see you texting under your desk almost every single day, you’re almost worse than Allison.” Derek exhaled loudly through his nose.

“I never said he was no one, he’s just some annoying kid who texts a lot.”

“Then why bother replying?” _Why did he bother replying._ He scratched his stubble contemplatively and raked his teeth over his lips.

“I’m not sure,” He looked over to Chris, “At first I was just concerned about him, but now I guess he’s grown on me.” Chris nodded seriously but then stopped.

“But he texts like a girl and flirts a lot. Are you sure he’s not some ‘chick’ you’re banging?”

“You went through my phone?!”

“And what does he have with Peter.” Chris continued.

“Chris!” Derek kneaded his brow in frustration, “We are not talking about this, end of story.” The Camaro roared to life under his touch, Chris leaned back smothering a laugh mentally ticking off another win for him.

 

* * *

 

_Stiles 17:03 22-11-12_

[What’s up Sour Puss.]

_Derek 17:03 22-11-12_

[Wow. That’s terrible even for you Stiles.]

_Stiles 17:04 22-11-12_

[You act like you can do any better.]

 

_Derek 17:04 22-11-12_

[I can do much better than ‘Sour Puss’. Besides I hate cats.]

_Stiles 17:05 22-11-12_

[So what do you like then?]

 

_Derek 17:05 22-11-12_

[8) Wolves. Wolves are cool.]

_Stiles 17:06 22-11-12_

[What are you 12? No one thinks wolves are cool anymore.]

 

_Derek 17:06 22-11-12_

[At least I drive a cool car. Deal with it 8).]

_Stiles 17:07 22-11-12_

[You are so lame.]

 

_Derek 17:07 22-11-12_

[I can’t hear you over the sound of my sweet sweet ride. I think you should start calling me Awesome Wolf b/c that’s what I am.]

_Stiles 17:08 22-11-12_

[How about ‘Big Douche’ cuz that’s what you are >:(]

_Derek 17:08 22-11-12_

[:P]

_Stiles 17:09 22-11-12_

[>.>]

_Derek 17:09 22-11-12_

[:(]

_Stiles 17:10 22-11-12_

[:/ :*]

_Derek 17:10 22-11-12_

[:)]

 

Derek scrolled back up through the messages. Chris was right, Stiles flirted a lot and somewhere down the line Derek stopped resisting it, and lately he found himself playing along. The last five messages between them alone consisted of only pixilated emoticons.

_Derek 17:12 22-11-12_

[What time do you get off work?]

 

_Stiles 17:12 22-11-12_

[I get off in about an hour.]

_Derek 17:13 22-11-12_

[Good. Stay at the coffee shop. I’ll come pick you up, I want to show you something.]

_Stiles 17:13 22-11-12_

[Omg what is it :O Are you gunna let me drive your car?]

_Derek 17:14 22-11-12_

[It’s a surprise :P]

_Stiles 17:14 22-11-12_

[And no you’re never going to drive my Camaro.]

 _Derek what are you doing. You’re setting yourself up._ He ignored the voice at the back of his skull and flicked on the radio. He was sitting in his car just outside of Chris’ apartment building, a quaint upscale establishment. He had invited Derek up for dinner but it had been such a long time since either he or Chris had gotten off of work so early he thought maybe it would be nice for Chris to spend some time just bonding with his family.

_“Derek you know you are family right? It’s not healthy to be alone in that huge apartment of yours.”_

_“I’m not alone, Laura lives there too.”_

_“Laura lives in France with her fiancé, just because she visits three times a year doesn’t mean she lives there anymore.” Derek sighed._

_“I’ll be fine Chris, I’ll come over tomorrow if you want me to that bad. I just want to relax this evening.” Chris shot him a disapproving look but probed the matter no further._

_“Whatever you say, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He shut the door and hustled through the brisk cold to the gate._

Maybe Derek should have just taken up Chris on that offer, he could even still go up if he wanted after all an invitation like that doesn’t expire in half an hour. He remained seated in his car and tapped through his messages to Stiles. He didn’t reply to the last one yet but he seemed pretty excited to see what Derek wanted to show him. _Probably just as excited as you are to see him again._

“Am not,” he muttered aloud. He shoved his phone into the glove box and shifted the gear into drive after all he did have an hour to kill.

 

* * *

 

Stiles was sitting behind the counter jiggling his leg restlessly. He checked his phone for the millionth time, _5:53 PM 7 minutes to go._ There was no use lying to himself, he was damn impatient to get off of work, _to see Derek._ Danny had deemed him responsible enough to manage the evening crowd by himself while he filled out order forms in the back room. It wasn’t as difficult as the morning rush, but there were still the few business men and women who worked later shifts coming in to pick up a bagel, and those now getting off of work grabbing a hot chocolate to go to stave off the biting cold. His shift was almost up and he and Danny would soon be replaced by the evening workers.

“What did you think about it?” Danny said as he emerged from the back door.

“Huh? Think about what?” Stiles blinked as he was jerked from his reverie.

“Your first day of work,” That little grin was adorable. No wonder Danny was so popular, you could melt marshmallows on his hotness. Not that Stiles thought so in particular, he preferred the muscular, dry humour, black leather jacket type.

“Uh, well I kind of suck at serving coffee,” He scratched at the back of his neck sheepishly.

“You’ll get used to it, today was just a trial run but I think you can handle it. Tomorrow you can show up at 6, I’ll be here a before you so don’t worry about being locked outside.”

Stiles grinned back at Danny then turned his head when he heard that familiar tinkling of the door being opened and felt his heart skip a beat. His eyes followed the way Derek’s hand reached and brushed the icy rain out of his locks and shake the droplets off his jacket.

“I hope I’m not too late to get one last cup of coffee.” The cold weather made his voice hoarse and raspy and made Stiles want to wriggle out of his clothes and drape himself across Derek. He held his tongue, suddenly feeling very self-conscious and aware that Danny was standing right behind him. He nodded his head, briefly making eye contact with a small smile and then set about  trying not to burn himself with the hot coffee.

Derek fiddled with one of the sugar packets on the counter, and realized for the first time this coffee shop was one of the few places that wasn’t blaring obnoxious Christmas music. He could hear an old 40’s jazz piece playing in the background, strangely enough the light upbeat harmony was perfectly suited to the place. An elderly couple sitting at a booth not far off were chuckling at a secret joke while sharing a sticky bun. Warm fingers brushed against his drawing his attention to the coffee in front of him, the steam rising up through the small hole in the plastic covering. On the sleeve there was face drawn in black marker with outrageous eyebrows and some scruffy stubble. Underneath in a comical scrawl he wrote the words ‘ _Sour Wolf_ ’. That brought a smile to his face.

“I’ll be waiting in the car, come when you’re done.” He whispered mysteriously to Stiles. He left with a downright suspicious looking grin leaving an unnecessarily large tip.

“You can head out now if you want Stiles.” Danny winked knowingly at him. He felt as if the floor of his stomach had dropped to his shoes. In a blur he fumbled out of his green cotton apron and shoved his hands through his hoodie and made a split for the door, both nervous and excited for whatever surprise Derek had in store for him.

 

* * *

 

The drive in Derek’s Camaro seemed to be exceedingly long and winding. No amount of poking and prodding would make him budge. They finally pulled up outside a lavish apartment complex opposite a high-end restaurant.

“C’mon let’s go!” Derek tugged at his sleeve and was already out the car before he could unbuckle his seat belt. He was walking towards the apartment complex, but instead of going up the door he slipped around the back down a darkened alley.

“Hey wait- wait for me!” Stiles scampered after him.

By the time he caught up Derek was pulling down a fire escape ladder and climbing up. He held out a hand to Stiles and nearly one handedly pulled him up onto the platform. They climbed up to the second highest floor which was bordered with a low walled terrace. It was dark and damp, but Derek easily loped over the knee high wall and patiently wait for Stiles to feel his way about.

“Aren’t you a cop? Isn’t this illegal? What are we doing here?”

“Shhh- Come you’ll understand in a minute.” Derek’s warm hand slipped over his and pulled him towards the sheltered area of the terrace that faced the restaurant. The sudden contact silenced him, the warmth spreading through his entire body. From here the second floor of the restaurant was easily visible. It was set up like an outdoor dining area with a small stage made for posh bands and expensive musicians. Derek settled down on the floor and slipped his legs through the balusters supporting the terrace wall. It was just the right height for him to rest his chin on his arms and gave him the perfect vantage point to see the stage.

“You brought me here to watch a performance across the street?”

“Not just any performance,” He said cryptically, shooting him another mysterious grin.

“Ladies and Gentlefolk! We are pleased to present Master Magician Malvolio the Marvellous.”

“A Magic show?! Are you serious Derek!” Even though he wanted to sound disapproving he couldn’t keep the excitement from his voice.

“I knew you’d love it,” Derek chuckled lightly.

There was burst of confetti and a fluffy fat rabbit appeared in a bird cage and a dozen doves flew out of the Magician’s hat. Stiles was enraptured. They sat there watching, the increasingly clownish antics of the Magician. It was when he hypnotized a fat white woman dressed in diamonds and pearls to squawk like a chicken both Stiles and Derek lost it having to smother their laughter under balled up fists and jacket sleeves. They hadn’t realized that they had been huddled so close together until their cheeks brushed, Derek’s own rough and Stiles’ smooth. Derek turned to him looking surprised and still laughing. So different from his usual stoic self. Stiles’s expression mirrored his and they both began cracking up again.

Derek wiped at his eyes and let out one of those sighs that come after a hearty laugh. Stiles rested his head on his arms and looked up at him, grinning. Their dangling legs bumped playfully against each other, and they were joined at the hip.

“Derek are you sure this isn’t illegal?” Stiles finally uttered the first word between them in about an hour.

“Well watching the Malvolio the Marvellous for free might be, but this apartment complex belongs to the Hale family, so we won’t get in trouble for sitting up here.”

“Wait you own this building?” Stiles sat up looking stunned.

“The Hale family owns it,” Derek pressed, “My sister used to live on this level, I live on the floor above.”

“Wait so if you own this building-”

“The Hale family.”

“Yes well, that, why did we come up through the fire escape? If it’s your sister’s apartment I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you going through it.” Derek looked away and laughed sheepishly into his hand.

“Well didn’t you think it was more fun sneaking up here?” Derek grinned at him like the 12 year old he truly was. Stiles smacked him on the arm.

“Dude I almost fell off that fire escape. TWICE!” He couldn’t help laughing as he spoke. Maybe it was something in the air, maybe it was Malvolio the Marvellous but for some reason both Derek and Stiles were giddy out of their minds laughing themselves to bits.

After a while, when they settled into a companionable silence still bumping their elbows and legs, Stiles spoke up again.

“What’s your sister like?”

Derek thought about it for a while, “She’s the most amazing yet terrifying woman you could ever meet.”

“What about your parents?”

“Most of my family died in a fire back home. My uncle managed to save only my sister and I, it almost cost him his life.” Stiles shifted closer to him.

“My parents are dead too. My mom died from cancer and my dad got shot on duty. I got shipped around a lot from foster home to foster home.”

“Is that how you ended up on the streets?” Derek’s tone was quiet.

“Yeah…” He wasn’t sad when he thought about it, it had been a long time since he had been sad about his parents. Now he only felt a distant longing for them.

“My mom loved magic shows,” Derek filled in, “She actually met my dad at the circus. She said that he fell instantly inlove with her when they both got called up to be volunteers for the magician. After that he begged her to marry him that very day.”

“Sounds like a dreamboat.” Stiles chuckled, “Do you believe in true love?”

“I believe what my parents had was something special. I don’t think anyone else in this world could have made them happier than each other.” Derek blushed and looked down at Stiles who looked back up at him earnestly.

“I believe that about my parents too.” His voice was soft and sincere and his whiskey coloured eyes glowed warmly in the night. Derek felt his mouth go cotton dry, and his heart pick up. He couldn’t stop staring at Stiles cheeks pink from the cold, and his lips slightly parted and red from where he bit on it. A cold breeze past between them and Stiles shuddered, his teeth chattering as frigid drops sprinkled him. A deep drowning guilt consume Derek as he realized that he had kept Stiles outside in the freezing temperature in nothing but a hoodie.

“Sorry I forgot it was cold, I’ll go get a blanket and try to open up one of these windows from inside. Wait here.” He got up and stepped over the wall.

“Derek wait! You’re gunna fall!” But he was already pulling himself up onto the upper level terrace with graceful ease. If he hadn’t been concerned about Derek plummeting to his death, Stiles would have made a wise crack about him being an insufferable show off.

Stiles pulled his legs up from dangling between the balusters and crawled back towards the wall, pulling his limbs in trying to generate some warmth. Without Derek next to him like some sort of muscular heat generating machine, it was very chilly. His phone dug into his side which he pulled out and checked.

There was an unanswered message from about three quarter hour ago from an unknown number. There was just a short message saying: “Call me ;),” and an attached link to a private video that was only 46 seconds long. He instantly clicked play and felt his entire body go numb.

It was video of him in Matt’s shower. The audio and video was mind-blowingly clear. He could see the red welts from where he was spanked decorating his already freckled skin. He felt sick as he saw from different angles Matt gently washing his body and slipping his fingers around his cock. He definitely remember that, nor making those noises as he slow-jacked him. The video clip ended when Matt pressed their lips together.

He closed the video and stared at the two word message, that winky-smiley face staring back up mockingly at him. _Call me._

His fingers trembled as he tapped called and pressed the shaking phone to his ear.

[Stiles.] There was no greeting, no hello. Just a breathy one word answer.

“What the fuck is this?” An tremor evident in his voice.

[Didn’t you like the video? I feel it’s one of my best works.]

“You’re fucking sick you know that!?”

[How do you think Detective Hale would feel if he saw something like this?] Stiles felt his chest squeeze the air out of his lungs.

“And why should Derek care?”

[Oh well I thought he might, since you happen to be at his apartment with him.]

“You spying on me!? Are you spying on us?!” He twisted his neck around looking for any kind of cameras that might be hiding in the nooks and crannies of the wall.

[I’m an FBI Agent Stiles. I have my ways.]

“Well it doesn’t even matter, Derek knows about my past it’s not like he gives a fuck.”

[Yes, indeed. He really wouldn’t care since the both of you are already at it.]

“What? What are you talking about?”

[Oh did I not use the correct term? Are you and Detective Hale not fucking?]

“No! Jesus Christ what the hell!”

[But you are at his apartment. One could only assume such things.]

“Wh-what? I’m not having sex with Derek!”

[But you want to don’t you?]

“What does this have to do with anything?” He sputtered meekly.

[Do you think Derek would want to touch you when he’s seen what I’ve already done to you?]

“…” Stiles was silent.

[Do you think that the video I sent you is the only footage I have of that night?]

“What do you want?” His voice was hoarse and cracked as tears pricked the corners of his eyes.

[Smart boy. Now I need you to do me a favour. I want you to leave Mr. Hale’s apartment and come and meet me. I’ll forward you the address. Ciao.]

The phone line went dead. He sat shaking staring at the phone. The world felt unreal and empty, like he was trapped in a vacuum and he couldn’t even hear his own voice. He didn’t even register the creak of the window that swung open behind him and Derek stepping out holding an armful of blankets.

“Stiles! Are you okay?” Derek sank to his knees and gripped his shoulder tight. He had never seen Stiles look so spooked, his face deathly white like snow and his shaking and clenched tightly around his phone.

“Stiles!”

“Derek,” His voice was thick as if he was crying, and his eyes were filled with unshed tears, “Derek I have to go.” He dodged past Derek and walked with a mechanic briskness to the fire escape.

“Stiles, what’s wrong, please tell me.” He reached out to grasp his wrist but Stiles flinched violently away.

“Don’t touch me,” He hissed. He was breathing heavily as if the weight of the world was suddenly bearing down on his small body. “Don’t touch me,” He repeated softer.

The blankets dropped and curled around his ankles as he watched Stiles disappear in the night.

TBC.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry guys! That was an awful cliff to just leave you guys on last time, and I now I totally cockblocked Derek and once again left you with another cliffie. 
> 
> *Jumps off building*
> 
> Hopefully I'm not a dick and just leave this hanging for sooo long again.
> 
> This is unedited so there will be tons of mistakes.


	9. Chapter 9

The night was brutishly cold as he slipped in and out behind large commercial buildings cutting his way across the city. When you spent as long as he did pounding the pavements of New York as a night-walker it didn’t take long to discover the less glamorous short cuts around town. Never did he think he would even need to use them again, he thought morosely as he passed by Dry-Eye Bill warming his filthy hands over a flaming barrel. He checked his phone again lighting his features electric blue in the darkness. It was the same place as last time, the centre of the wealthier districts. He gritted his teeth, his stomach churning unpleasantly in his stomach. Derek’s broken expression resurfaced in his mind. Everything was so fucked up, and all of it was Matt’s fault. He rubbed his bare hands together, he would have to get a new pair of gloves soon. He cut through the last three blocks and stood in front of the impressive Garden Heights Complex. Matt’s apartment was on the 26th floor, the penthouse suite. For a second Stiles considered taking the stairs out of spite just so he could make Matt wait longer, but after walking all the way across town it really wasn’t worth it.

The security buzzed him in wordlessly. The lobby was oddly quiet compared to the outside teeming with nightlife. His shoes echoed as he crossed the sterile lobby and the golden-arched elevator dinged obnoxiously in the silence. There wasn’t even the comfort of droning elevator music as he rode his way to the top floor. The sound of his heart thumping in his chest echoed in his skull. For the life of him he just want to curl up in a ball  and weep in the corner of the elevator, but he had a sneaking suspicion that Matt could access any surveillance camera he wished on a whim. Even the ones in the elevators.

The doors rolled back ushering him up like a lamb for slaughter. He tread across the plush carpet, deadening the sounds of his footfalls. The sounds of his breathing and beating heart resonated in his body, making him feel claustrophobic and trapped in the grand hallway. His phone buzzed in his pocket.

[ _You can let yourself in._ ]

The door was unlocked when he tried it, opening easily under his hands. The place looked different from the last time he had been here. Not drastically different, but different in the sort of live-in way. The last time he had been here it looked as if it had been lifted from a _Design_ magazine. But now there were little things, like where a take away coffee sat on the marble counter-top and a couple unwashed dishes lay in the kitchen sink. He walked past the breakfast bar, noting that his blackmailer was suspiciously absent.

“Took you long enough.” The hairs on the back of his neck tingled as the voice came from a dimly lit quarter. Matt sat with his back turned to Stiles in an overstuffed swiveling chair made of black leather. He could see his hand holding a thick cigar which disappear for a few moments then reappear followed by gray rings of smoke.

It was an open room which could have been a party area for posh gentle folk mingling their way around with tiny flutes of champagne, but otherwise it excessively large for one man’s living space. Not that Matt seemed to care. He sat in a subtly divided workspace, a large desk cluttered with loose sheets of paper surrounded by several smart oak shelves lined with neat binders containing case files. Most of the light came from the kitchen behind Stiles, stretching his shadow on the wall.

The chair swiveled around revealing a slightly less than dapper looking Matt. His jacket was lost and Windsor knot of his tie was roughly loosened and his hair was tousled from where he brushed his hand through it. He kept his socks on which for some reason occurred to Stiles as odd that a man so abnormal as Matt could have such normal habits.

He pulled in deeply from the cigar before screwing it into the ash tray that rested on his table, and fixed Stiles with an unreadable stare taking in his attire.

“Go take a shower.” It wasn’t a request, it was a command. Stiles felt suddenly aware of the exhaust fumes and city grime that clung to his hair and clothes. “You can leave your clothes in the bathroom,” he added as an afterthought, then turned his back on him again. A sinking feeling of dread pool in his stomach, the memory of the video of him in Matt’s shower replaying over and over in his mind. He shuffled upstairs and stripped mechanically, and clinically sterilized himself under the stinging hot water. He rubbed away the grimy feeling but couldn’t reach the gritty paranoia of being watched that settled under his skin.

He dried himself quickly trying his best to cover his indecent bits at all times, who knows where Matt would choose to put his cameras. There was no one in the bedroom, but sitting on the bed were two stacks of clothes. One was just a simple t-shirt and a pair of boxers, most likely just for now. In the second pile was a generously warm dark gray jacket and a pair of understated designer jeans, of course in exactly Stiles’ size because Matt was some kind of weirdo. He changed into the first set of clothes and hung the towel in the bathroom to dry and returned to the bedroom where he sat and stewed. He sat there for 15 minutes just waiting, for anything to happen.

From the moment he had watched the video at Derek’s he had been filled with nauseating dread and fear, but now frankly he was just angry. Angry that Matt had the gall to call him out and interrupt his time with Derek. And he was annoyed that he was making him wait so fucking long in his fucking fancy bedroom, for absolutely nothing to happen. And he was bored. Bored out of his mind. In the time that passed he played through most of the levels of snake on his phone, ignored several text messages and phone calls from Derek (a few of which he contemplated replying), considered the existence of life on Mars and still there was no sign of the sadistic bastard. He was two seconds away from getting up and hauling his ass home when the door opened.

Matt barely glanced at Stiles who was sprawled on his bed, messing up the sheets and digging his feet into his pillows. _Designer pillows because he’s a douchedick._ His back was turned as he unbuttoned his sleeves and unlatched his watch and placed it on to the dresser. He  undid his tie and hung it the hook inside of his closet then headed into the bathroom where he stripped down to his boxer-briefs. He didn’t even bother to close the door, not out of vanity but because of how little he thought of Stiles’ opinion. He stared daggers into his back wishing to make him uncomfortable but Matt remained oblivious to his efforts.

He came out, flicking off the bathroom lights and shutting the door behind him and bee-lined for his sidetable besides the bed. Stiles tensed in apprehension, all his elaborate thoughts of escape dwindling down to one red alert of _run away._ He remained still as Matt rummaged around the contents of the drawer humming and ha-ing to himself before retrieving a bottle of something that looked neither like condoms nor lube.

“Do you know how to massage?”

“What?” Stiles looked taken aback.

“A backrub, a massage. A soothing form of therapy.” Matt looked slightly annoyed.

“You want me to rub your back.” He deadpanned.

“Can you.” Matt pressed.

“Well, yeah? I guess so?” He was more confused than anything but Matt was already slipping the bottle of translucent liquid into his hands and turning onto his front.

He poured out some of it warming it in his palm. It was oil vaguely scented like lavender with a hint of peppermint. He spread the viscous fluid across both his palms and began working on the tense muscles on his back.

This night was definitely not what he expected.

By no means was he an expert of massage therapy, but it wasn’t hard to improvise. It wasn’t long before the room was filled with the sound of the mattress creaking and Matt’s contented mumblings. Stiles lost track of time, somehow ended up straddling his boxer-brief clad ass and following Matt’s half asleep ‘lower’ and ‘higher’ commands. He was kneading a particular tight shoulder muscle when he heard a murmur.

“Okay that’s good enough…”

Stiles paused in his ministrations and regarded his precarious position on top of Matt. He was slipping off when Matt turned slightly and captured his wrist. He jerked him close and pinned him underneath his body, their noses barely touching. Stiles struggled but Matt heavier than him, closing the distance between their hips and holding himself up on his forearms, effectively making Stiles his prisoner.

“Let me go!” Matt shushed him and buried his face into the crook of his neck.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’d just stay still.” It was muffled and tickled where his lips brushed. He nosed along the side of his jaw and inhaled deeply. He raised his head and bore down at him.

“You wouldn’t want to cross me.” The effect was partially lost on Stiles, as his face was slack with sleep and he sported some serious bed head. Stiles couldn’t help the disgusted scoff that escaped his lips. His eyes narrowed as he glared down at him. He remained silent, his eyes roving over Stiles’ features, lingering on his lips before drawing back to his eyes.

“Get out.” His change in tone was imperceptible. “There’s money on the counter. Take it and get out of my house.” He rolled off of Stiles and onto his side, freeing him. Stiles rolled his eyes fed up of being ordered around. He took his time and changed into the clothes he had laid out for him, then retrieved his own from the bathroom, rolling them and tucking them into a paper handle bag he found. He glanced at Matt’s undisturbed figure that was turned away from him, before leaving.

He took the golden arched elevator down and nodded to the silent doorman and found himself outside on the bustling streets of the city. Nothing had changed from earlier, _nothing had happened._

 

* * *

 

 

Derek was still sitting on the terrace slouching heavily against the wall. The blanket was draped loosely over his shoulders, his face lighting a myriad of colours as he tapped through his phone. He stir out of his stupor when buzzed violently in his hand, [ _Stiles calling]._

“Stiles! Why didn’t you answer your phone are you alright?” He gushed.

[Hey to you too. I’m fine don’t worry.] His voice sounded strange and distant.

“What happened earlier? I was so worried.”

[It was nothing, don’t bother about it.]

“Stiles, don’t lie to me, it wasn’t just nothing.”

[…] There was a tired sigh on the other end.

[It was a friend, he got himself into trouble. Everything is fine now though.]

“What? Stiles! Are you hurt? I’m a detective, if you’re in trouble I can help you.”

[No, no Derek you can’t. I can’t- I just can’t. I’ll plead the fifth.]

“Then where are you? Do you want me to pick you up?”

[No it’s okay I took the bus, I’m already almost home.]

“Stiles…” A weighted silence passed between them.

“Stiles if you do get hurt, can I trust you to let me help you?”

[Yes. Yes I promise.] Derek bit his lip.

“You have to also promise that you’ll tell me if you get into trouble, right?”

[… Trouble usually comes looking for me.]

“Promise you’ll tell me. Stiles.”

[I promise.] There was some crackling over the phone and the sound of Stiles moving about.

[Hey Derek I have to go now, my stop is coming up. I’m sorry about tonight, I’ll make it up to you.] Derek could hear him pause waiting for his response.

“Okay, I’ll talk to you soon then.” There was an agreeing hmmm before the phone cut off. A relieved breath he didn’t even know he was holding escaped his lips.

Yes, he was relieved that Stiles was fine, but he hated that he was hiding something from him. Whatever it was, it scratched like an insect inside his skull. Anything could have happened in between the moment he left from the moment he called back. The image of Stiles' ashen white face  looking down at his sweaty hands gripping like a dying man onto his phone was burned into the back of his eyelids. He knew that look, Stiles was being threatened. But by whom? And why? Did someone threaten his friend? Was there even a friend involved? There were so many questions, so little answers. He hung his head in his hands, and blew out in frustration. His phone buzzed again, a message from Stiles. It was a picture and a text. He opened the text first.

_Stiles 21:25 22-11-12_

[I know you’re still up on your roof freezing your ass off worrying about me. I’m fine, and here’s picture of me and my roommates to prove it. :P So stop being a sourwolf, I can see your eyebrows from all the way here.]

 

He opened the picture and a gave surprised bark of laughter. It was a selfie-shot with Stiles in the middle making a ridiculous face, his arm around the shoulder of a blonde girl in the middle of speaking and looking slightly confused and a tall handsome blonde boy perched over his shoulder pouting seductively back at him. He saved the picture and slipped the phone into his pocket, finally allowing himself to relax. He gathered up the blankets and climbed back through the window, pulling it shut behind him.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey Stiles, can you wipe down the tables?”

They had just completed the 6 to 10 morning rush and things were just about cooling down. Only a few young people were sitting, quietly tapping away at their keyboards and sipping on their cooled coffees. It had been a hard morning, he couldn’t imagine Danny doing this by himself. But he had quite gotten the hang of it, he and Danny slipping into a fast paced dance of pouring hot coffee and tea. He wrung out the wet cloth in the sink at the back and slipped out behind the counter to wipe the sticky tables and around the sugar and cream counter. He briefly wondered whether Derek would come by today, but his thoughts were quickly answered when a familiar dark clad figure sidled in through the door. He was already smiling up at Derek who caught his eye and flashed him a toothy grin.

“Morning stranger.” He whispered as he slipped back behind the counter.

“Morning to you too.” Derek didn’t know why they were whispering but being around Stiles made him feel and act childish.

Stiles handed over a uncovered steaming cup of coffee, with a lopsided flower drawn into the cream.

“Danny is having me practice,” He added scratching the back of his head sheepishly, “But I bet you’re the type of guy who would prefer a pair of tits in his coffee rather than a lame flower.” Derek almost snorted in his cup.

“I don’t discriminate,” He muttered into his cup after a beat. Stiles eyebrows climbed towards his hair line.

“Oh yeah?” The surprise evident in his voice, his lips twitching as if he was suppressing a laugh.

“Oh yeah.” He confirmed quietly nodding his head into his cup. Stiles turned away pressing his lips between his teeth, unable to hide the hide the laughter in his eyes. Neither of them wanted to comment on that elephant.

“So where’s Matt?” Stiles filled in nonchalantly, careful to keep his voice steady.

“Ahh,” Derek stretched his back and furrowed his brow, “Tough case, been elbows deep in it since yesterday.” Stiles hmm-ed thoughtfully and carried on wiping behind the counter.

“Are you free tonight?” Stiles looked up surprised, “You know since our- we got cut short yesterday.” Derek eyes searched him for an answer, his head tilted slightly.

“Um- ah yes. Around the same time as yesterday.” Stiles blushed, his hand flying to his throat to see if his heart got stuck there.

“Well then great, I’ll pick you up around six.” He flashed him another beaming grin that made Stiles want to melt into the soles of his shoes and left.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel really bad about leaving you guys on horrible cliff hangers so here's a nice cliff hanger. Stiles and Derek would probably finally have their "date" (it's about goddamn time, jesus fucking christ)
> 
> Though no promises b/c that would be considered spoilers, and we already confirmed that I am a dick so it's not above me to ruin it for Derek and Stiles again XD
> 
> :* I love you guys! And I genuinely hope you guys keep enjoying this story.
> 
> Again this is unedited so loads of mistakes :/


End file.
